


Even Porcelain Breaks

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Physical Transformation, Sister-Sister Relationship, So keep an eye out, and because i promised that i would write this, because i needed the story to make sense to me, before the relationship builds, i'll be back to your regularly scheduled Rickeen soon, it just took me a while, it's just a fluffy sansan thing, minor physical injuries, though i'll probably be able to manage an update a day until this thing is done, with a bit of a slow start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: The Starks have had poor luck. In Winterfell, there is little they can do to make their way. The oldest son sought honor through military forces, working his way through the ranks, but their family still struggles to makes ends meet. In an effort to bring wealth back, Ned Stark travels south with his two daughters where they find troubles they have never heard of before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassyEggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/gifts), [vanillacoconuts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillacoconuts/gifts).



> Happy birthday!

The road was long and winding, cutting through grasses, trees. Over the years, everything had made way for the travelers who came through often, towing along wares and families and the things that made life worth living. The dirt beneath them was witness to many first meetings, though it lacked the title of spectator. Even so, as another small family passed through, the road was the only one to witness their coming. The wagon was being pulled by two horses, of a moderate size, though the contents were covered with large sheets of canvas.

At the reins of the small wagon was a broad-shouldered man. He showed the wear of battle, with visible scars on the skin that wasn’t covered by a thick fur coat. His hands were thick and calloused from years of work—whether that was creating or destroying was uncertain. The man had a dark look about him, his face was shadowed by his dark hair and his eyes had a slightly sunken look.

A small, mousy girl sat at his side, and she looked like his miniature—from his long face, deep-set eyes, and dark hair. She was unkempt and fidgety. Splotches of dirt were on her face and arms, sleeves pushed up past her skinny elbows to give her hands more freedom. Her mouth was set in a natural frown as she eyed their surroundings.

“How far to the city?” There was an edge of impatience in her voice.

“Not much farther,” her father replied. “We’ll have lodgings waiting for us—a shopfront with attached for us.”

The girl’s frown deepened. She crossed her arms and stuck her chin out. “I still don’t see why _she_ had to come.”

It wasn’t obvious who the girl was talking about, but a few moments later, there was some shifting from the bundles in the back of the wagon. One of the sheets was a shroud for a girl on the cusp of adulthood. She stretched out and her cloak slid away to reveal silky burnt orange hair that fell in soft waves down her back. She had soft features and a light smattering of freckles across her nose. At a glance, she didn’t seem to be related to the other two of the wagon’s occupants.

“That’s because Sansa knows how to talk to customers,” the man said. “Our sales will go by quicker with her help.”

“I can talk to customers,” the other girl said, refusing to make eye contact.

“No, you can talk to strangers,” her father said gently. “But Arya, the goal is to get them to buy something.”

Arya let out a huff of air. “Southerners don’t even appreciate our stock,” she said, “even though it’s better than theirs.”

“And this is why Sansa manages our sales,” her father said, “so be nice to your sister.”

Arya rolled her eyes before climbing into the back of the wagon to sit next to her sister. She settled against the wooden side, kicking her feet out. The road was occasionally bumpy, and Arya’s head rattled against the side of the wagon. She dug through a rucksack and pulled out a small apple. She took the largest bite her mouth could make.

“We’ve been on this road for weeks,” she muttered, not bothering to swallow before speaking.

“Stop your whining,” Sansa said. She turned in her place, brushing out her skirts. On her lap was a small book that looked worn from their travel. The spine was broken, but none of the pages were bent. “We’ll be in town soon.”

That received a glare from her sister. Arya paused her chewing to point the apple at Sansa. “Easy for you to say,” she said. “Your only job is to stand there and look pretty. Mother only sent you so you could find a properly rich husband.”

“We aren’t even in the Crownlands.” Sansa looked out through the flat land around them. Even though her eyes were elsewhere, her hands caressed the book gently as she directed her book into a satchel. She tucked it away and fiddled with her cloak.

“But we’re right on the outskirts of Lannisport,” Arya hissed out. She tossed the apple core onto the grass and twisted about. The land around them was slowly shifting from wide open farm land to the bustling trade center of the outer city.

They came in on an odd day, which left their way clear until they hit they mid-morning traffic of the city itself. Arya went up on her knees looking around at the people they were hoping to turn into customers. She thought of all the things she could make that would appeal to this crowd, but they didn’t seem to have an interest in anything that wasn’t jewelry. Arya might be able to polish iron enough to get them to buy it. Maybe if she carved runes of the Old Tongue into them and convince these people that they were lucky…

Sansa was also scanning the crowd eagerly, though her target wasn’t entirely clear until they rounded a corner. “A book shop!” she called out. “Papa, can I go look?”

“We haven’t even settled in,” her father warned, steering their wagon through the small crowd. “You’ll get lost.”

“I’ll find my way.” Sansa was focused on the book shop even as it shrank into the distance. The smile faded when they rounded the corner.

They continued on until they stopped at a shop front at the end of a row. It was a small, quaint shack with paint peeling in several places and the brick was showing through. The shrubbery around the front was mostly overgrown, and dirt had scattered from the greenery to the cobblestones out front. It had quite a bit of upkeep needed, though there was an attached stable for the horses.

A woman came from the shop next door, where an abundance of flowers were a colorful contrast to the surrounding shops. She smiled at them. “How do you do? Are you the new shop keeps?”

Their father stepped forward. “Yes, I’m Ned Stark, and these are my daughters.” He held out a hand to her.

The woman froze, clasping her hands in front of her stomach. “Pardon me, but did you say Stark?”

“I did,” Ned said, letting his hand fall. “Is that a problem?”

“No, ser,” the woman said. She took a small step away. “Best keep that under wraps. Folk ’round these part don’t take nice to northerners.”

Ned nodded. “I thank you for sharing.” He gave her a curt nod and turned back to the cart.

The woman didn’t spare a moment before rushing back to her shop. Arya jumped down from the wagon with a prominent frown. “What’s she on about?”

“Never you mind her,” Ned said gently. He placed a hand on her small shoulder and directed her toward the wagon. “Let’s got the horses in and bring everything in.”

Sansa carefully slid off the wagon, rushing up to her father. “The book shop isn’t far,” she said. “Just a left down this road, and a right at the next… It’s set between a baker and an apothecary. Please, can I go?”

Ned gave her a soft smile. “Tomorrow, love,” he said. “We need to attend to what we came here for first. Go and get the horses.”

Though, Sansa’s face fell, she listened to her father and went to detach the horses from the wagon and led them into the stable. She pulled open the windows, checked individual stalls, and made sure that they had food and water before heading back out to the wagon. Bearing a few pointed glares from her sister, Sansa pulled in a small load and set it down on the shop’s counter. Inside, she searched about for a broom and began sweeping out the accumulated dust and dirt from the various surfaces of the shop.

It was a long day of maintenance, and they only had a short pause for dinner. Sansa committed herself to the work, though. She knew that her father and sister weren’t suited to cleaning up, and she was glad to take up the chore, especially since she knew that they would both be hard at work on the morrow. Already, they were planning what they needed to mend and polish for the morrow. Sansa kept herself busy, though, turning out sheets and making sure that their quarters were stocked with candles and clean enough for bedtime.

The next morning, Sansa woke early, dressing quietly so she wouldn’t disturb her sister. She packed her satchel up and left the shop, making sure to lock up behind her before heading out down to the book shop. On her way, several townsfolk greeted her as they were opening up, and Sansa gave them smiles and gentle salutations on her way.

Sansa sighed in relief when the book shop was in sight, though she was disappointed to see that it wasn’t yet open. Still, she drifted to the windows to look inside and see what books were on display. She was content to just wait for the shop to open, trying to make a selection even though she knew she’d change her mind once she stepped inside.

“Sorry, miss, but we don’t open for a bit longer.” A man was just outside the shop, sweeping the cobblestones most likely to track dust into the shop.

Flinching away, Sansa turned to the voice with a hand over her breast. She had been so consumed with her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door open. “Oh, I understand,” she said once her pulse was under control. “I can wait.”

The man kept on sweeping for a while, but on a glance up he froze. He stared up at Sansa with his mouth gaping. It took him a few moments to gather himself. Then, he propped the door open for her. “Would you like a look in early?”

“I would love to,” Sansa said. She took the man’s hand in hers. “I won’t disturb anything, I swear.”

The man tripped over his words letting her in. “Help yourself, miss,” he said. “Please, feel free.”

Sansa thanked him profusely before stepping inside and going to peruse the books. She made an honest attempt to keep everything as it was, reading only the spines. However, for a few rather captivating titles, she pulled out the books to skim the first few pages. She was having difficulties choosing between two, when the shop keep came back in and said,

“You’re welcome to take them both.”

Biting down her acceptance of the offer, Sansa insisted on giving this man the full price for the books. “I couldn’t do that,” she said, knowing full well that this was his livelihood and she couldn’t give him anything less than he deserved. She did have enough gold for both books, but she was planning on bringing back fresh bread for her family. “I can only pay for one right now, but I’ll be back for more.”

The old man didn’t seem willing to accept that. “How ’bout we work a deal?” he offered. “You can take the one, and trade it back when you finish?”

Sansa frowned at him. “I’d be gaining more than you.”

The man _tsk_ ed at her. “Then, you can tell me about them,” he said. “I haven’t read half of what’s in my shop, and I won’t get the chance in my time remaining.”

“You’ll have a thousand lives ahead of you if you read,” Sansa said. She gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll insist on paying you each time.”

“As only a proper lady would.” The old reluctantly took her gold and slid the two books to her.

Sansa grabbed the one on top and bid him a good day. She stopped over at the baker’s shop, where she engaged in more light conversation. They asked about her about her coming to town, and Sansa responded in kind. The shop keeper insisted on giving her more than she asked for, but Sansa left a coin on the counter before taking her leave. She carried her things back to the shop where her father and Arya were already at work for the day.

Arya was leaning lazily onto the counter, polishing a small pendant. She made no attempt to hide rolling her eyes. “Told you she went off for books.”

“Arya,” Ned warned.

Sansa ignored her. “I picked you up breakfast.” She placed the bundle of warm bread on the counter, keeping it far from Arya’s work. “The baker asked about business, and I wasn’t sure what to tell him. What’s our aim for this shop? With the folk here?”

“I believe we should go with ‘Tinker’,” he father responded. “We’ll make anything within our capability, mending, from material, as long as we can get everything for it.”

Sansa nodded. “I’ll see if I can find paints to make a sign,” she said. “Come eat, father.”

He shook his head and wiped his hands off on a cloth. “I need to tend to the horses,” he said. “They need to eat, too.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Sansa shot him a quick smile and was out the door before he could tell her not to. The horses always took kindly to Sansa, and she took the time to comb out their coats after checking on their food and water. She took her time, having already eaten a small piece of bread before coming back. The animals deserved the attention, though they were likely still tired from the weeks of travel.

A noise from the shop caused Sansa to head back early. She was used to her family sustaining injuries in their line of work, and she typically had to mend them up. If not, they would likely keep working through them. Sansa pulled up her sleeves, preparing herself for bandaging up her family. However, the shop entrance was blocked by a stocky man. Sansa craned her neck to look past the man. Inside the shop was a younger man with overgrown golden hair, using his height to lean too far over the counter. Sansa knew her sister was likely to snap at customers, so she tried to push her way into the small shop.

There was a light clattering as something fell to the floor. “Just a bunch of useless junk,” came a sneer. “Leave northerners to take up space and make things of as much worth as they are.”

Arya’s face had never looked more disgusted with a person. Sansa knew she was rubbing her thumb across the end of her blade, ready to strike if he moved even a little closer.

Sansa took a deep breath, readying herself to diffuse the situation. She cleared her throat even though she didn’t need to. “Excuse me.”

The man at the counter turned slowly, rounding on her. He looked her up and down slowly, dragging his deep green eyes over her. A smirk grew on his face and he straightened out his back to look down on her. “A nice lady doesn’t need anything from this place,” he announced, as if he was giving them important information. “Come with me, and I’ll buy you something pretty. How’d you like that?”

The trained smile stayed on Sansa’s face, and she kept herself composed. Sansa carefully adjusted her skirt. She clasped her hands behind her and said, “Excuse me, ser, we ask that you treat our wares carefully while you browse. Can I help you get anything?”

The man looked confused. He shook his head and held out a hand to her. “No need to defend the savages, my lady,” he said. “I’m the Duke’s son—Joffrey. Let me show you where people of our class give our patronage.”

“My apologies, ser,” Sansa said. She was seething, but she still managed to keep her voice sweet. “I’m afraid I can’t leave the shop while I’m working. Though, if you aren’t looking to buy, I must ask you to leave. There are customers outside who would like to enter.”

A sizeable crowd had, indeed, gathered outside the shop. Most people were gawking at the royal horses tethered down the street, but had gravitated toward the noise coming from the shop. Joffrey looked at the crowd as if insulted that people of such standing would dare to look at him, though he was still looking Sansa up and down at every opportunity. After a long moment, he straightened out again giving the shop another look over before heading out the door.

Sansa made her way behind the counter, gently moving Arya away. A few people had wandered in, looking about curiously. “Good morning,” Sansa greeted kindly. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Most people just waved her off, but a couple stayed to ask about the shop. Sansa responded with a smile, giving them the information they wanted and keeping up conversation with ease. When she had the chance, she checked on her sister to make sure Arya wasn’t actively seeking action against Joffrey. Her father had apparently kept her busy with work while he went out to consult with potential customers. During a short reprieve, Sansa snuck back to find her sister. Arya was sharpening a blade with a bit too much force.

“Arya.”

She didn’t look up. “He’s worthless himself,” she muttered out. “I can show him the value of my blade.”

“Arya.”

Arya looked up. The look in her eyes was murderous. “He looked at you like a pie,” she said. “If he comes in here again, I’ll—”

“You’ll let me handle it,” Sansa said. She didn’t like having to deal with despicable humans any more than her sister, but she knew how to hide it better. “He may be vile, but we can likely get good sales off him. We’ll need it, too, if we want to head back off before winter.”

Her sister continued to work at the blade, though with slightly less force. Sansa scanned the room, trying to look for something better to leave with. She found the breads and placed one on the table beside her.

“Make sure you eat,” Sansa said, heading back out to go greet more customers.


	2. Chapter 2

Business didn’t favor them for a long time. Just for pennies, they lowered prices significantly. It meant that they were doing a lot of work for free, but it paid for food, at least. Occasionally, they got bigger work, and Ned would make the house call personally to take care of it, leaving his daughters to tend the shop. They found a rhythm by themselves, mostly working around each other to get the work done. Sansa worked the shopfront while Arya crafted in the back. Their supplies were limited, so Arya spent days working over the same project to perfection.

Sansa managed to obtain a few sales a day, but it was nothing compared to what he father could bring in, even if it was still a meager amount. She took her nights off reading, making sure to visit the book shop whenever possible. She became even more grateful for the owner’s kindness, as money was low, even for necessities. Once a week, she planned out a full hour just to spend chatting with him about the books that she read. He would make sure she left with one more book than she wanted—one that he always longed to read himself. Sansa made sure she read that one first.

“If we don’t start getting work, we’ll be here years,” Arya declared one night.

The weather was turning. Sansa knew her sister was right. Even though they were the only proper tinkers who could complete repairs in the area, most people were still going to ill-suited shops for their needs. Perhaps, she needed to lay down the foundation to bring in more customers. She could do so with a few more hours off a day. However, she was worried about teaching Arya her courtesies for customers during that time.

“We’ll manage.” Sansa turned down her sheets. The book was currently reading remained untouched on the windowsill. If she went to sleep early, she could try her hand at bringing in more customers early instead.

The flaw in the plan was that no one was awake terribly early. Sansa roamed the streets anyway, searching for any area of town where people were bustling about. She eventually found some potential customers loudly complaining about delaying travels because of loose parts on their carriage. Sansa gently pressed her arm to her side. She had hidden a blade in her sleeve, though she didn’t know how to use it. It was secure, so she took her chances stepping over.

The man was fiddling with his cart, swearing at it. Nearby, his page boy was loading bags into the carriage. “Stop it, boy,” the man called. “We’ll be delayed days looking for a fix…”

“A good tinker can have that fixed in a few hours,” Sansa said, checking her basket before continuing down the road. She struggled to get her feet moving again, kicking excessively with each step. She was in her most extravagant gown and had spent an absurd amount of time tying her hair into a complicated knot. She hoped the façade of wealth would lure the man into asking for details. She just needed a better hook. “I had mine tend to my jewelry box in a matter of minutes.”

Sansa kept her pace, focusing on her feet. She needed to exude the aura of wealth. Her faked affluence could land them with a number of clients, if she played this right.

“Milady!” the man called. His footsteps were heavy on the cobblestones behind her.

She turned so sharply that the man stopped dead in his tracks. He quickly pulled off his hat. “You mentioned a tinker?”

Sansa gave him directions, and he thanked her profusely, even going so far as to press a few coins into her hands before returning to his carriage. Sansa hid her smile, though she raced back to the shop. Holding up her skirts, Sansa made her way upstairs to wake her sister.

“Arya!” she hissed out. “Wake up!”

It took some effort, but Sansa managed it after a few minutes. Arya was groaning loudly.

“You need to tend to the shop,” Sansa told her. “Someone’s coming in for assistance. He needs work on his carriage. Give him the regular price.”

Arya blinked slowly, rubbing her eyes. “What?” She squinted at her sister. “Why are you dressed so oddly?”

Sansa swallowed and took a step back. “I’m bringing in customers,” she said. “Just going around town and making comments about things you’ve fixed for me.”

“Well, why can’t you watch the shop?” Arya complained.

“No one will believe me if they find me working the shop after,” she said. Sansa gathered up her skirts and made for the door. “I’m trying to act the part of a lady.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but she pulled on her boots and dutifully headed downstairs. Sansa thanked her as she headed for the door. Just outside, the man was heading in. Sansa spun back to the counter.

“Sell me something,” she hissed out.

Arya narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were leaving?”

“Give me something that I could be picking up,” Sansa said sharply. “Now.”

With a loud groan, Arya disappeared into the back room. The door opened behind Sansa, but she didn’t turn. Arya came back and shoved a small box at Sansa. “Here you go.”

Sansa took the box and pulled off a glove. She took her time opening it and pulled out a small brooch. Sansa carefully inspected it. “Oh, it’s perfect!” she said, putting a bit too much into her performance. “Just how I remembered. It was a gift from my mother… I have other pieces that need work as well; I’ll bring them in soon.”

Arya blinked at her, then remembered that there was a customer behind her sister. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll be glad to fix up anything you need. If you’d prefer we go to you, we can make arrangements.”

“I enjoy the city air,” Sansa said lightly. “And I can have sweets from my favorite bakery, as well.”

“Have a good day, milady,” Arya said. She waited for Sansa to turn and greeted the customer behind her.

Sansa went slowly, confirming that Arya was treating the customer well before she left the shop. Then, Sansa milled around, looking for anyone else who might be in need of their services. She spent the entire day on her feet, talking to as many people as she could. When she felt particularly exhausted, she slipped into her favorite book shop.

“We’re closing soon, miss,” he said. He didn’t recognize her in the slightest.

It comforted Sansa some, but she felt a little disappointed that the courtesy she had gained was lost. Sansa made her time in the shop short, instead moving to an open table where she could get her weight off her feet.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Sansa put a warm smile on her face and turned in her seat. Before her was a handsomely-dressed man, but she recognized his golden hair and cold green eyes. “No, thank you.”

“No?” He slid into the seat across from her. “I’ll have two teas, then,” he said, though it didn’t appear that anyone was going to tend to them. “Just for me.”

Sansa pulled out a book. She didn’t want to spend more time walking today. Her feet were aching from the shoes she forced onto her feet. If she read, she didn’t even have to put up with his presence. She could get lost in the words.

It worked for a page. Then, the book was snatched from her hands. “Excuse me, ser.”

“My name is Joffrey Baratheon,” he said. He wore a smirk proudly on his face. “I’m the Duke’s son. Have a drink with me.”

On the table before them were two cups of tea. Sansa didn’t know who had passed on his order, but she was annoyed at their punctuality. “No, thank you,” she repeated. “I’d prefer to read.”

He placed the book an arm’s length away. “A pretty lady like doesn’t need books,” he said. “They’re nonsense. You could live your whole life comfortably with me.”

“A life without books isn’t a life I’d ever wish for.” 

She stretched over for the book and left without a single glance back. There was no place else for her to hide. Back at the shop, she saw that there were still a number of customers inside. She recognized a few of them and quickly walked past. There wasn’t an easy way for her to sneak into her room, not in her many skirts, so she snuck into the stable with the horse and found an uneaten bale of hay to rest on. It seemed the Arya found time to tend to them through the day because they didn’t bother her at all. She didn’t realize that she had fallen asleep until she woke in the arms of her father carrying her upstairs.

“Father, how did the shop do?” Sansa mumbled out.

“Astoundingly,” he said. “We had so many requests. Many purchases today, and more promises to return. You did amazing. Take that thing off. We’re going to have dinner.”

Sansa smiled, and weakly worked to remove her dress. Her father left the room while she changed into something more comfortable. She considered heading back downstairs, but she didn’t want to risk any passing customers realizing that they’ve been hoodwinked, even if they were getting exactly what they paid for.

Arya burst in with a heavy basket on her arm. “Chickens!” she declared, setting the basket on the floor. “Full chickens. Roasted vegetables, _and_ rolls.”

Ned came back in, and Sansa slid to the floor to join her sister. She didn’t want to bother with niceties right now. She just wanted a full meal and her weight off her feet. Arya lifted a chicken up to him, and he took it with a smile. Though he shook his head at the girls, he joined them on the floor. They ate in silence for a while, and then they exchanged stories of how their days went.

“You should take a day off,” Ned told Sansa. “Keep yourself from tiring out.”

“I’ll be useless here,” Sansa declared. “If anyone recognizes me in the shop, they’ll spread the word and we’ll be stuck here. What would I do trapped up here all day?”

Arya shrugged. “You could read.”

Sansa glared at her sister. “I want to be helpful,” she said. “I’ll keep heading out, but I’ll find time for rest. Besides, it’ll bring us in more customers.”

“If you insist,” Ned said, “but should you ever tire, you will return to get your rest.”

“In the stables,” Sansa clarified. “I won’t risk our business.”

Ned didn’t look fully content with this, but he didn’t raise any more complaints on the matter. Arya only had one.

“Did you bring any other fancy dresses?”

\--

Sansa continued heading out every day. Her father insisted on hiding a stash of comforts for her in the stables, in case she needed to stop by for rest. Since that was set anyway, Sansa also took up responsibility for the horses. During her few breaks, she would feed, water, and comb them, making sure that they were fully cared for. However, the majority of her focus went to bringing in more customers.

She was refining her technique, especially since Arya took seriously the challenge of making her goods look amazing. They already had a number of jewelry pieces, but Arya made the necklace shine before handing them off to Sansa in the morning. She also made certain to adjust the necklace each day so no one would realize that Sansa was actually wearing the same one each day. Only a few times would she change the script, holding onto small boxes, putting pins in her hat, or donning elaborate bracelets instead. 

A few times, Sansa had no need to seek out customers. Women would approach her to ask about the fine craftsmanship of her accessories, and Sansa would also direct them appropriately.

With all the time she spent in town, she had more than her share of run-ins with Joffrey Baratheon. It wasn’t every day, but Sansa still saw more of him than she was comfortable with. Sometimes, she could avoid him, but it was always with an astounding amount of effort. Even hiding in the stables didn’t seem particular safe for the game she was playing. Whenever he did manage to corner her, he would find a way to put a drink before her. Without fail, Sansa would leave the cup untouched. She refused to give him any more of her attention than he was demanding.

“We’ll be wed one day.” Joffrey was talking to himself and gesturing widely. “There’s no need to get your family involved; I’ve no need for a dowry. Though, tradition would be in your favor… An arrangement could be made easily.”

It was worthless talk to Sansa. He was far from what she wanted in a partner. There was never a moment when she felt attracted to him. After all, from his first impression, he made it clear that she was nothing more than his current toy. She wished for the day when he would grow tired of her.

One day, it happened rather abruptly. Joffrey was going on about his many accomplishments hunting, obviously working for a compliment, when he suddenly left without excusing himself. Sansa couldn’t see any reason for this, but she wasn’t about the question her luck. Instead, she enjoyed the relative quiet of the town.

Not too long after, she caught sight of Joffrey passing with a few other men. There were all laughing loudly, and Sansa couldn’t imagine any reason for this. She didn’t particularly want to. She was just waited for the time when she could safely return home.

“Someone was asking after you,” Arya told her. The shop was securely locked up, and they were sitting on the floor of their shared room. “At least, they described you. They kept calling you the wrong name.”

Sansa picked at her food. “Well, I couldn’t go around with my true name,” she said. “I needed some sort of safety in case I wanted to return here peacefully.”

“So you went with Alayne?” Arya asked. She looked a little disgusted. “It’s not even a Northern name.”

“No,” Sansa agreed, “which is why I picked it. I don’t exactly look Northern.”

The two sisters both knew that they shared little in common. Other than there work in the shop, most wouldn’t even think that they were related. Arya was all shadow where Sansa was light. Over the time, they had come to terms and started getting along better in spite of their differences. It was a relief to their mother, but they still reached points of strain.

Arya grabbed a large piece of their roast, and Sansa hit her hand away.

“Shouldn’t we wait for father?”

Arya maneuvered around Sansa hand and continued to make for the food. “He’ll be back late,” she said. “He got an urgent house call to attend to. Good money, _and_ we got half up front.”

“Really?” Sansa said. She held out a hand.

With a loud groan, Arya scurried downstairs before returning with the contents of their till. This happened every fortnight: Sansa would go through all of their jobs, expenses, and coins to make sure that they were doing well on saving up for their return home. The business was doing amazingly considering their rough start. It didn’t look like they would return before winter, but they could possibly head back soon after.

After cleaning up, they went to bed, hoping that the sounds of their father returning would wake them soon. However, the noise came much later, and it was much too abrupt. Sansa sat up quickly, trying to see through the veil of darkness that was still over them.

Across the room, Arya was already alert. She had a short sword brandished before her. Her boots went ignored as she crept down the stairs. Sansa followed behind, pulling out her own meager knife for protection. Nothing appeared to be disturbed, but there was loud beating coming from outside. Sansa grabbed a small lantern and followed her outside. A few paces away, one of their horses was trying to return to the stable with little success. Arya skirted around to open the gate, giving the horse access. The horse darted inside, going to hide in a dark corner. The other horse looked alarmed by this behavior.

“But where’s Dad?” Arya asked.

Sansa shoved the lantern into Arya’s hands before rushing inside. As far as she could tell, there was only one clear option. She donned her riding clothes, pulling on her heaviest cloak. It took her some time to bind her hair back, but she still managed to be fully dressed and downstairs in a matter of minutes.

She found her sister halfway down the street, looking the way the horse had come. Sansa stepped loudly to draw her attention.

“And where are you going?” Arya asked. There was hard accusation in her voice. Sansa didn’t blame her, but she had already thought this through.

“I’m going after Father,” she said.

Arya shook her head roughly. “I’m faster—”

“You have to tend to the shop,” Sansa said. “We can’t lose these customers right now, not if we want to return home within the year.”

“But—”

Sansa shook her head. “I can go missing,” she reasoned out. “No one even knows to look for me at the shop anymore.”

Arya seemed to be thinking through it slowly. It was obvious that this wasn’t a plan that pleased her, but she couldn’t think of any effective counter arguments. After a long time, Arya huffed out a short, “Fine.”

They walked back to the shop together. Sansa went directly to the stables and saddled up the other horse. It was dark out, but the moon was nearly full in the sky. It would provide plenty of light for her ride. Sansa led the horse out with a calm hand, and Arya met her in front of the shop. She cautiously held out a sliver of parchment.

“Here,” Arya said. “I copied out the directions for you. This is exactly what Dad was following.”

Sansa took the paper and read it over a few times. “Thank you.”

Arya idled at her side while she mounted the horse. Then, she held the mount steady while Sansa got settled. 

“Come back at the first sign of trouble,” Arya said.

Sansa nodded.

“And take this.” Arya handed her a sheathed object, but Sansa knew exactly what it was. It was her most prized possession: her dagger.

“I can’t.”

“I’ll make another.” Arya shrugged lightly. “Take it.”

Sansa took it, tucking it firmly into her belt. She hoped she wouldn’t have to draw the blade, but she knew that it would hold its edge. With a deep breath, Sansa fixed her grip on the reins. Arya took a step back. With a gentle movement, Sansa urged the mount forward and started off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

The directions were clear, and for that Sansa was thankful. More so, the moon illuminated the road with such clarity that Sansa had little reason to panic on the ride. She still turned at every odd sound, fearing bandits and a possible attack. However, she had no reason to fear getting lost. The directions were clear and they followed landmarks set along the path, going so far as to note the small path that led off the main road.

This road was slightly more bothersome. The bushes surrounding the way were so overgrown that Sansa’s cloak and boot got snagged often, though she found herself comforting the horse more than anything. She didn’t know how many scratches and cuts he had, but she knew that this horse was mature enough not to complain. 

It was a long process, and they reached a thick wood that blocked off a lot of the natural light. Sansa slowed the horse, peeling her eyes to make sure they were headed in the right direction. Her hand was settled on the dagger, though Sansa didn’t know how much use it would be. The sounds of nocturnal animals occasionally drifted over to her, but Sansa ignored them as much as she could.

When the canopy broke and moonlight came back down, Sansa let out a small sigh of relief. She leaned forward to stroke her horse’s neck and urged him on forward. On the open path, they had greater speed, though Sansa’s level of caution never lessened. She continued down the winding path. Around a bend, a castle grew in the distance. There were no more instructions to follow. She was far outside of town. That had to be her destination. Sansa stopped herself from urging her horse to approach faster. She needed to stay cautious.

It ended up being in her best interest, too. Though there was obviously land between her and the castle, the road suddenly became steep on one side and the other had thorny underbrush preventing passage into the safety of the trees. Sansa took the road slowly, keeping herself perched carefully on the solid ground. It was a longer path because it switched back often, and the early morning sun was starting to bleed through when she reached the outer gate of the castle.

The gate was closed. Sansa fully dismounted and walked to the gate. It was shut, but there was only a small chain keeping it in place. It fell off with little effort and Sansa led the horse in. She put an even smaller effort into putting the chain back. Still, the front door was a ways off. The path was clear, so Sansa led the horse to the main entrance.

Sansa gently pushed open the front door, and it swung open easily. She leaned her head in. “Father?”

The inside of the castle was dark and abandoned. Other than the door being open, Sansa couldn’t tell if anyone had been here for years. She loosely wrapped the reins over the main handle of the door before stepping inside. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. There wasn’t a torch in sight, so Sansa stepped forward slowly while looking around. When she turned back to the door, Sansa saw a path in the dust. From the door, the path followed the wall and down a flight of stairs.

Sansa pressed her hand against the wall, stepping down cautiously to each next step. The staircase spiraled tight, and she stumbled down the uneven steps. At the bottom, the corridor was just as dark, but a flickering light was cast from a room a few meters away. Sansa approached slowly, peeking into a room.

Inside, half of the room was caged off and a hunched figure was in the far corner. They were completely covered by their cloak, and Sansa stepped forward slowly. The figure flinched away from the noise. Sansa swallowed and whispered, “Father?”

The figure inside the cage turned. It was her father, but he looked drastically changed. His eyes were sunken, but wide with fright. He was entirely ungroomed, with snarled hair sticking up in all directions. His hands shook as he grasped the bars of the cage.

Sansa rushed forward, placing her hands over his. “What happened to you?”

Ned’s eyes still lacked warmth. He didn’t even seem to notice that she was here. He stared blankly into the room, falling forward to lean against the bars of the cage.

“We have to get you out of here,” Sansa said. She stood up and searched for a key to the lock. It was well out of reach of the cage, lying on a table. Sansa unlocked the door, but at the sound of the lock turning, Ned backed away into a corner. Sansa entered the cage and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come now, Father. We’re going home.”

He shook his head violently. “—have to s-s-stay,” he stammered out. He froze and spoke with surprisingly clarity. “He’ll know.”

“Who?” Sansa asked, but Ned had shrunk back further. He looked horrible. She had to get him back. They just needed a plan. “Someone has to stay?” 

Ned nodded in a steady rhythm.

Sansa swallowed. “Then, I will,” she declared. She exited the cage, looking around the room for a spare cloak. One was discarded in the corner of the room, so Sansa placed it over her own. “The horse is outside, Father. Just get on, and he’ll take you home. I’ll stay in your place.”

It took a lot of coaxing, but Sansa eventually managed to switch places with her father. Once she was huddled in the corner, he headed out of the cage in small increments. Every two steps or so, he turned back. If Sansa was looking at him, he wouldn’t move. Sansa stayed curled in the corner until she couldn’t hear any more steps. When everything settled into quiet, Sansa dusted herself off and tried the door of the cage.

Her father had locked her in.

Sansa sighed. He looked horrible, and he needed help. Sansa could only hope that he could mount a horse in that state. Once he was back at the shop, Arya would figure out how to care for him. Sansa just needed to figure out how to get out so she could help. The key to the cage was back where she found it on the table, and regardless of how she stretched, she couldn’t find a way to reach it.

The blade hidden in her sleeve held some promise, but the sound it made in the lock was horrendous. It sounded like she was doing more damage to the blade than the integrity of the lock. She needed to find a way to retrieve the key. There was nothing in the cage that could help her. She had only what was on her body. Sitting on the floor, Sansa sliced off the fabric of her skirt. She made a long rope, tying it off at intervals so it could serve as a hook around the key. When it was of a reasonable length, Sansa threw through the bars of the cage. She missed several times, almost losing her rope when it snagged on a splinter.

Reeling the rope back, Sansa carefully aimed a toss. It landed perfectly atop the key, so Sansa pulled in it slowly. The fabric was much too thin. There was no weight to the fabric, even with the knots. It just slid over the key without moving it in the slightest. Sansa sighed. She needed something heavy to drag the key toward her.

The blade would be perfect, but Sansa did not want to risk losing her only weapon. Instead, she focused back on the fabric. She patted herself down completely, but there was nothing she could use. She had left her bag of supplies on the horse. The only option left was to focus on the makeshift rope. Sansa sat down, carefully undoing her knots and experimenting with tying it differently. She was attempting to make some sort of hook in the fabric.

She worked for hours, wearing her fingers down until she was too tired to move them much more. She would continue trying after some rest. Bundling up the rope, Sansa searched for a place to hide it in the small space of the cage.

The muffled sound of footstep caught her ears. Sansa held her breath. She didn’t expect her father to be serious about the mysterious _he_ who trapped him here. The footsteps grew closer, and Sansa retreated into the corner. As the sounds grew closer, Sansa felt the weight of each step in her ears. They were loud and heavy. The space between each step was filled with rustling, and Sansa could hear slight scratching accompanying them.

Her hands started shaking, and she turned away from the door. Whoever _he_ was, Sansa was not prepared to see him. She pulled the hood up and covered her face as much as possible. Then, she hunched herself into the corner, staring at the stone wall.

The room felt warmer, though the light was blocked. Sansa didn’t risk breathing. She closed her eyes and tried to keep herself from shaking. Heavy breathing came from behind her. The shuffling feet moved about the area. Then, the sharp sound of metal scraping on stone hit her ears. Sansa tensed, waiting for him to move closer. He never did. Soon after, the footsteps faded away. Even so, Sansa didn’t risk moving. She stayed curled up in the corner, holding her hand over her heart and waiting for it to settle down.

It took several minutes, and then Sansa brushed her eyes. There was a wetness there that she didn’t remember. Her nerves were still on edge. She brushed her skirt down with shaking hands. Her stomach felt heavy, and she had no means of explaining why she had reacted so strongly. With deep, slow breaths, Sansa got her wits back. Standing up slowly, Sansa felt her back and her knees straining with the effort.

At the door to the cage was a tray of food. It all looked very plain: a pale broth, a heel of bread, and some water. Sansa stepped toward it, wondering whether it was safe to eat. She didn’t have any other options, and it smelled okay, even if it was a bit plain. There was no silverware, so Sansa lifted to bowl to her lips and drank the broth slowly. It was a standard stock, with absolutely no substance to it. The bread was fine. It wasn’t as soft and fresh as Sansa would have liked, but it wasn’t moldy or stale. All in all, Sansa couldn’t complain. She saved the water, thinking that she might like something else later. There was a chance that this would be her only meal today, and she had already finished.

The tray didn’t offer her any more options. When she saw it, she had hoped for silverware to weigh down her rope. The dishes would be far too noisy, and Sansa didn’t want to draw the attention of her captor. Denting or breaking the dishes was also out of the question.

So Sansa returned to her technique from earlier. It needed much refinement, but it seemed that she had time. Even with one meal a day, she’d survive. It shouldn’t take more than a few days for Arya to notice and come after her. She wouldn’t be idle, though. Sansa spent every moment she could working toward her escape. She kept going with her rope, aiming for the key on the table. Whenever she grew bored of failure, she’d stop and retie her rope before trying again. 

It was a tedious process, but Sansa kept at it. She was absolutely single-minded in her attempts. She stopped only when she heard footsteps approaching. Then, she’d hide her rope and face the wall as an unknown man entered the room to bring her a meager meal. Each time, Sansa was entirely overcome with fear, cowering against the brick wall. She made no effort to make herself appear the same size as her father. She wasn’t capable in the moments where she could _feel_ that a massive creature entered the room with her.

Her recovery from these encounters was slow, as well. Sansa felt clammy and shaken after his visits. He never spoke nor did he enter the cage, but every nerve in her body was telling her to flee. Being trapped in a cage did not help.

She did find time to sleep every night, but it was never restful. Sansa woke herself before she could get to a deep sleep, knowing that she couldn’t risk her captor finding that she had hoodwinked him. She kept up the façade, unsure of how many days had passed. She only knew that any progress she made at retrieving the key was reset whenever her captor came and moved things about the room.

According to her meals, it had been a few days, and she could find no reason to hope for escape. Perhaps her father had never made it home. Arya would be caring for the shop, possibly thinking that it was the larger concern than her prim and proper sister. Their father would tell her, if he ever regained his wits. It was possible that he wouldn’t recover, and Arya was spending every moment she could nursing him back to health. That challenge was greater.

Sansa had to find her escape alone. She kept at it, finding ways to occupy her time and searching for new methods to use on the key. Many times, she came close to finding success—or perhaps she only convinced herself that the next throw would be successful—but she was always stopped by the arrival of her captor.

The lack of sleep affected her the most. Sansa knew that she couldn’t maintain her schedule. She was in desperate need of a full night’s sleep. Her body felt weak, with only the light meals to keep her going. Though her work wasn’t exhausting, her fingers were weak from constantly fixing and adjusting her knots. She had also spent a long time in her clothes, and they needed a wash.

She ignored this for days more before her exhaustion caught up to her. She didn’t remember how many meals it had been since her last nap. She didn’t even have time to count before slumping forward against the bars of the cage. It was bliss. The weight from before was subdued, enough for Sansa to relax for a few moments.

Flinching hard, Sansa pulled away from the cage. She couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t safe. She rubbed furiously at her eyes, trying to bring her mind back to where she needed it. It was a weak effort. Now that she knew how much her body craved sleep, she couldn’t ignore the sensation. Sansa curled back against the far wall, trying to find a position that she would stay upright in. Her body was already fighting against it. As an extra precaution, Sansa took out her blade. She resolved to keep it in her hand as she allowed herself to sleep.

Sleep enveloped her, dragging her down far from her consciousness. It was all-consuming, leaving her vulnerable to anything. She couldn’t find it in her to care. In her dreams, she was sharing a meal with her family, everyone back home and together around a table. It wasn’t fanciful or extravagant, but it was comforting and safe. Sansa was nearly roused from her slumber with a loud scratching sound, but it was just her dreams playing tricks on her. Rickon and Bran were dragging chairs around, finding ways to sit closer to her as she read to them before sending them off to bed.

The scraping continued, but Sansa didn’t bother to investigate. It was just more siblings, sharing her company, bringing her sweets, listening to her recite from her books. Someone even tapped her shoulder, trying to draw her attention away. Sansa ignored them. Offers of tea could wait—she was nearly to the end of the chapter. They were insistent, though. Robb probably needed help in the kitchen. He was shoving her hard before he pulled her, upsetting her seat and making her fall to the floor.

Sansa’s head hit the solid floor, bringing her back to the sharp reality. She didn’t know how long she slept, but it wasn’t long enough. Now, her head was aching, and she couldn’t remember where she was. Sansa rolled onto her side, relieving the pain the smallest amount. Sansa’s arm landed on a hard lump, and she groped for it blindly.

She opened her eyes, finding the dull stone wall of her prison. She sighed. Nothing had changed. Sansa pulled herself up, rubbing her eyes slowly. Her hand fell onto the dagger. She might actually use it to find her escape today. Sansa turned to the table, and her heart leapt into her throat.

A massive figure was taking up a majority of the space in the cage. They were crouched down to accommodate the height, but Sansa’s eyes couldn’t focus. She took in features slowly, uncertain if her eyes were working properly. The feet alone were huge, with exposed nails so thick, she could only think of them as claws. Thick hairs that appeared to be fur covered his entire form, save for where it was hidden under trousers and shirt that both were torn and fraying.

Sansa kept her eyes from his head, but she couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying than the muscled and furry arms, legs, and torso of this creature. The curiosity got the better of her, though. She gave the shortest of glances up, and it was too much. There was a mane, of that she was certain, pooling around the neck and making the overall look much more haggard and unkempt. The entire face had the same thick fur over it, but there was a distinct muzzle and a permanently snarl on the lips. They lined a mouth full of sharp, horrible teeth. Sansa only just noticed that the eyes were very human, almost soft behind that mask of confusion and anger. Then, the fear gripped her again.

Sansa swung out with the blade, forgetting her exhaustion and weakness from before. The dagger wasn’t close enough to hit anything, but the effort of the motion pulled Sansa. She slipped forward, falling onto the stone floor. Her heart was thumping madly, pounding in her ears. It wasn’t enough to keep her conscious. Sansa only managed a short gasp before she fell into unconsciousness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the tardiness. I have fallen abruptly ill and am suffering poor sleep from it.


	4. Chapter 4

The softest, silkiest sheets completely surrounded her. It was still far off, brushing against her hands, and Sansa wanted to dive into the sensation of it. She shifted, trying to find a way to have her skin on the silk. However, the shift pulled cloth around her abdomen. It felt heavy and thick. Sansa remembered her clothes and she knew that they were just as old and unwashed as before. The thought jolted her from sleep, and she glanced around at her surroundings.

The room was dark, but light tried to bleed in through the wide windows. Sansa climbed out of bed, giving it an appraising look as she pulled the heavy curtain away. The sunlight was blinding. Sansa closed her eyes tight. She had forgotten how long it had been since she had a decent source of light. It took a few moments, but Sansa eventually managed to look at her surroundings.

She was in a wide, spacious room. Though it looked entirely out of use, the room didn’t look to be as covered in dust as she remembered from her first steps into this castle. Still, the room wasn’t lived in. There were nice decorations about, a beautiful bed, intricate tapestries, a woven rug, and several doors that led to more unknown parts. Sansa didn’t know how she got here, but she knew that she needed to leave.

Sansa rushed to the doors. The one closest to the bed was a closet, filled with extravagant gowns and dresses. Sansa wanted to change, but not more than she wanted to escape. The next room was even more tempting. It was a bath. Sansa had heard that very wealthy people could make water pump into various rooms of their homes, but she had never seen a mechanism that actually worked. Out of curiosity, she turned a tap. Clear, fresh water poured out. Sansa put her hand under the stream, cupping her palms and drinking a mouthful. It was so refreshing. Sansa grabbed more handfuls, wiping her face off. She reached for a nearby cloth and scrubbed at her face, relishing in the clean feeling of it.

Her surprise only increased when she next dipped a hand into the water and it was warm. Not only was this water pumping on its own, but it would soon be hot. The idea of a bath was tempting, but Sansa needed to focus. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She needed to leave. Sansa twisted the tap, stopping the flow of water and left to seek her escape.

The remaining door led to a hall. Despite the steady stream of light coming in from the room, the hall looked dismal. Sansa stepped out slowly, picking a direction at random to find the front door. She didn’t know how she would make it back to her family’s shop without a horse—she didn’t even know if she remembered the directions. It wouldn’t stop her, though. That was better than captivity.

Sansa struck out at a quick pace. As she went, the shadows around her grew. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed movement. Sansa ignored it the best she could. She kept pushing an image from her mind, doing her level best to forget that she had ever seen it. Surely, it was all a dream. She wouldn’t let herself believe that it had been real, and she’d be gone before she could confirm it.

The movement in the shadows grew more frequent. It was obvious that something was following her, but Sansa wouldn’t give it her attention. Her body reacted though. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat, and her legs were growing weaker with every step.

Sansa hurried through the halls, searching for any sign of a front door. Everything was equally dark. When she followed a hint of light, it just led her back to the room she woke up in. Sansa quickly ran through the halls again, determined to find her way out. The exhaustion was catching up to her, though. Her stomach was empty, and she still hadn’t slept as long as she could.

She stumbled onto a staircase and tried to rush her way down. In doing so, she missed a step, twisting her ankle and falling down the remainder of the flight. Sansa came to a stop on the platform, curling her injured leg up. The pain was flaring through her. She couldn’t walk on it. Even the thought of returning to her rooms made her breath catch.

The rustling of fabric made her freeze. Sansa had been ignoring the sounds around her as well as she could, but now they were at the forefront of her mind. They were close. Sansa sought out a way to get back to safety, but she couldn’t see any options. Footsteps came loud and clear from the open door at the top of the stairs. Sansa swallowed and braced herself for the monster that she knew would appear.

Even though she told herself that the creature was real—that she hadn’t imagined it—Sansa was unprepared for his reappearance. He emerged from the dark shadows above, mostly hunched over as he crawled down the stairs.

Sansa kept her eyes down, but the large, clawed hands of the creature came into her field of vision. They were nearly dragging on the floor, and the similarities between the hands and the feet were clear. Sansa could find a structure much like her own hands, but the amount of fur and massive claws struck her as distinctly inhuman. It was like a creature trapped in metamorphosis—possibly a skinchanger, a werewolf, or some other creature of legend. When the ends of the mane came into her view, Sansa shut her eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

The voice was rough, like the words hadn’t been shaped properly. She could understand it, though, even though it wasn’t pleasant to her ear. Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but she was trapped in her fear again.

The creature took a step closer. “Are you injured?”

Sansa pushed herself away. This time, she managed to shake her head.

“I—I can help you to the room.” This time, the voice was hesitant. “You’re welcome to stay until you’re healed. I left you some food.”

Sansa knew how she should respond, but the words caught in her throat. She settled for nodding and shuffling onto her knees. He might be in her way, but Sansa would find a way to safety without his help. When he saw her intent, he moved off of the stairs. Sansa knew her ankle couldn’t bear her weight, but she was content to crawl. Her reflexes refused to let her struggle without at least testing her foot. Sansa used the railing to pull herself up to her feet, taking a few steps with her hands keeping her up.

She wouldn’t make it. The distance was too far. She didn’t know the way. Already, her eyes were stinging with tears. She would collapse before she made it to the hallway. The beast appeared at her side, holding out a thick, fuzzy arm.

“I can escort you.”

Closing her eyes, Sansa clutched to the railing. She didn’t want to get closer. If she didn’t accept help, she would waste away, in this foreign castle, on this flight of stairs. It almost seemed reasonable. Her family came to mind. Should she refuse help, she’d never see her mother smile again, never feel her father’s embrace. She would never see her home again. Slowly, Sansa reached over and placed her hand on his arm.

The fur was coarse and thick, close to matting, but not quite there. Warmth permeated the fur, making Sansa’s hand hot within a few seconds. She wasn’t certain how she could move. It took a majority of her strength to ignore the fear of being so close to this massive creature. Cautiously, she tried to take a step. Her leg was shaking so much, she couldn’t steady herself. Her next step made her knees buckle.

Sansa didn’t hit the floor. The beast moved his other arm to catch her. He held her up for a brief second before shifting his arms. Sansa was lifted entirely. The beast carried her with surprising speed down a series of hallways, leading her toward the only source of light. Sansa felt his sharp intake of breath for before he entered the room. He placed her down on a plush chair, disappeared into the bath, and made for the door.

The rushing of water was coming from the bath. Sansa couldn’t guess what was planned, but she could smell food nearby. Following her nose, Sansa limped a short distance to where a tray was laid out on a table. Sansa carried it with her, placing onto a ledge beside the tub. Already, the water was steaming and halfway up the side of the deep tub. The scents were intoxicating. Sansa closed the door, latching it behind her. Then, she found a stool and sat as she undressed.

The water enveloped her, and Sansa almost forgot her hunger. She ate slowly, relaxing for the first time in days. Now that she was resigned to being here, there was no point in wasting her energy worried about what would come next. She had food and a room that she could lock herself away in. She could simply stay in this room until she was fully recovered and could trek her way back to the shop.

After her bath, Sansa wrapped herself in a plush towel and hobbled over to the closet. Her jaw dropped open. There was a multitude of extravagant dresses, with intricate embroidery, embellished with jewels and beads that glimmered in the little light that came in. They were surely meant for balls or visiting the king. Sansa couldn’t think of a reason for her to wear any of these beautiful gowns. With her ankle in the shape it was in, she also knew that she would be unable to walk in one. Sansa shuffled through them until she found a simple dress.

The dress was a smooth velvet, with a full skirt and embroidery around every hem. The petticoat could be removed, and Sansa found that she could walk around in the green dress without much issue. She also found a sturdy parasol, which she refused to open so she could use as a walking sticking. Sansa retrieved the tray from the bath and placed it outside of her door before locking herself in. Then, she returned to the bed to catch up on all her missed sleep.

\--

Sansa slept soundly, comfortable between the soft silk sheets. Though fitful at first, Sansa managed to sleep off and on until her exhaustion was nonexistent. Whenever she got hungry, she hobbled over to the door and found a fresh tray of food outside. Her meals were still soups, though they now were filled with chunks of vegetables. Every few days, there were chunks of meat in the soup as well.

It was enough to fill her appetite. Sansa spent her days sleeping and eating. Once those two needs were fulfilled, Sansa found that there was nothing else for her to do. The novelty of hot baths had worn off, especially since she did very little each day. After a week, Sansa was spending a majority of her time gazing out the window, looking for any sign of movement in the surrounding forest.

She was lonely. There was nothing else for her to do. Sansa longed for her books to keep her company. She missed her family. Whenever she was sick of injured at home, her siblings would visit her. Bran dragged Rickon along with a book, asking her to read to them. Robb would come in a tell her stories or how everyone was doing, and Arya visited and attempted to fix her hair for her. Sansa smiled, knowing that she always did what she could for them, too. Now, she didn’t know when she would see them next.

Days passed. More and more, Sansa felt that she was wasting away in this room. She had everything she needed, but she wasn’t living. It was simply a dull existence as her ankle healed slowly.

One day, Sansa woke and went to open her door. She couldn’t explore. She couldn’t go anywhere. But she knew there was someone else in the castle. Perhaps, if she didn’t deny him entry, he would provide company, if only for a little while. Sure enough, instead of leaving the tray of food outside, the beast entered the room. He stepped in slowly, looking cautiously for permission. Sansa beckoned him closer.

“Thank you for the food,” she said softly. She owed him much more than her thanks. After being alone for so long, her pride had diminished. She was reliant on this creature—would be dead without him. Sansa didn’t even feel the same fear from his presence.

The creature didn’t respond. He simply moved around the bed, placed the tray on the space beside her, and left the room in silence.

Sansa picked at her food. Her self-imposed captivity was even worse than before. At least in the basement, Sansa felt she had served a purpose. Her own freedom was a small price to pay for her father’s. He had a trade. He needed to return home to care for the family. Sansa offered little in support there. All she knew how to do was to charm customers. With the right words, a perfect smile, and small gestures, she could guarantee purchases. 

In this room, Sansa was incapable. She considered making the attempt. With some effort, she could possibly convince this creature to fetch her a horse and send her on her way. Sansa found the thought laughable. She remembered the sheer fear and how frozen she was in his presence. Though it had worn off, it was not without much time. Sansa didn’t know what other options she had other than to wait until she could make the long journey back on her own two feet.

Whenever Sansa was visited—either receiving food or having her tray taken away—she was always sure to remember her courtesies. Sansa always greeted him, saying _thank you_ s at every opportunity. She knew that secluding herself away had been rude. Though it made sense to her at the time, Sansa felt that she had been unjust to the one who had been feeding her for her stay.

“Thank you so much,” Sansa said. She smiled at him as he brought in a tray of food. There was a thick soup today, and Sansa breathed in the smells of it. She had yet to find something to actually call this creature, and thinking of him as a creature made her uncomfortable. Sansa watched him approach, sliding the tray onto her bed. Sansa cleared her throat gently. “Would you like the join me?”

His eyes widened, and he met her gaze for a short moment. Sansa stared at the gray of them, hoping that she had kept her smile. He let out a small grunt and shuffled over to the door.

Sansa sighed, pushing herself up higher and dragging the tray closer. The stew was delicious. Sansa sipped at small spoonfuls and chewed slowly through the vegetables and meat in it. Dipping the bread into the soup, Sansa let it soak up the broth before eating it. She savored the meal as long as she could, but it was soon gone. Now long afterward, he returned.

“The soup was delicious,” Sansa said. “Thank you so much.”

He simply grunted in response, moving around to keep himself far from her as he retrieved the tray.

Sansa gathered up her courage. If she couldn’t draw his attention, she’d be alone for hours until she saw him again. The thought was unbearable. Just as he got to the door, Sansa said, “If it wouldn’t be a bother, I could do with some company.”

He paused at the door for a moment, but he continued on just as he had every other day. Sansa slumped back into the pillows. There really was nothing for her to do. She was dreadfully bored. Looking toward the window, Sansa stared out, wishing she had the freedom of movement. Lost in her thoughts, she was brought back when a weight settled on the end of the bed. Sansa turned sharply, expecting to find the beast, but instead she saw—

“Books!” Sansa leaned over herself, reaching for the closest volume.

“I brought you my favorites,” the beast said.

Sansa beamed at him. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “This is wonderful. I—I could read to you, if you’d like.”

Keeping his head down, the beast muttered out a sound before disappearing out the door again. Sansa felt another wave of failure. The books would be a welcome distraction, but Sansa dearly missed conversing with others. Interaction would soon be a skill she needed to learn again. Flipping open the cover of the first book, Sansa read through the first few pages.

She didn’t even know what she was reading. All of her thoughts were consumed with how distant she still was to her only company. Sansa turned back to the beginning of the book and began to read out loud. Her voice was weak from lack of use, and Sansa paused for water rather often, gathering herself and continuing to read out loud.

The arrival of dinner was her first break. The beast came in with a tray of food and an extra pitcher of water. Sansa thanked him profusely, commenting on how much she was enjoying the book so far. Still, he left. Sansa had every intention of continuing to read into the night, but the sun was falling below the distant trees.

When the beast returned to retrieve the tray, Sansa thanked him again, inviting him to stay longer. She was so focused on her task that she didn’t realize he brought a candlestick and a tin of matches. He placed in on the table beside her before disappearing with the tray.

Sansa didn’t know how to read into the behavior. She was only distinctly aware of how timid he was. He never overstepped, staying far from her. He rarely looked at her, acting as a servant to bring her meals. Sansa didn’t like it. She wanted to repay him. It seemed that he wanted her to keep reading, though she didn’t know why.

So she read. Sansa read late into the night. It wasn’t until her exhaustion got the better of her that she nodded off with the book still on her lap. She had even forgotten to blow out her candles. When she woke in the morning, the candle was out and the book was closed. A ribbon was between the pages where she left off. Sansa smiled, knowing that she was being well taken care of.

At the first sound of motion beyond her room, Sansa began reading again. She kept her voice strong, focusing on the story as much as the sounds from the hall. She stopped for her breakfast, again giving her thanks and an invitation to accompany her. The beast didn’t refuse, but he didn’t stay.

Sansa began reading again. The pattern followed through the end of the book two days later. Sansa sighed, running her hand of the cover. The smile wouldn’t leave her face. With her options so limited, Sansa placed the book to the side and began the next. It was the same as before. She read, paused for meals, and invited the beast to join her.

The next day, Sansa noticed that though he left, he did return. He never entered the room, but Sansa could see the edge of his clawed foot outside her door. She made the mistake of calling to him once. He disappeared, and Sansa didn’t see him outside her door again until she began the next book. When she saw him again, she made no comment on it. She simply continued to read, watching for signs of his presence.

The meals still came regularly. Sansa kept up her pleasantries, sometimes postponing her reading to a time when she knew he could return to hear the stories. Over the days, he came closer to the door. Sansa could easily see his arm or leg, though she knew better than to say anything. She waited, wondering what would happen when she finished these books. The day came soon. Sansa closed the cover of the last book, savoring the story while it was fresh in her mind. After a few moments, Sansa straightened the stack of book, thinking back to all the stories.

“Thank you.”

Sansa looked up at the rough voice. She hadn’t expected his presence so soon. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

“Would you like to choose the next one?”

Sansa blinked. It didn’t even seem possible. “There—there are more books?”

“I could take you there.” He gathered the books in one arm, looking up at her tentatively.

Sansa sprang forward, tripping over her weak ankle. She quickly grabbed the parasol, using it as a cane and hobbling to the door. The beast let out a huff of air, showing his teeth. It took Sansa a while to recognize it as a smile. She grinned back, moving into the hallway for the first time in weeks. He followed her, and Sansa waited for him to lead her to wherever the books were hidden. 

Walking was still rather painful. Sansa heavily favored her left leg, limping with tiny steps forward. She could feel the warmth radiating from the beast at her side, and he seemed happy enough to be leading her through the castle. Whenever Sansa stumbled, he held out an arm to support her. Sansa grabbed onto him until her balance returned. It happened often enough that Sansa simply held onto him as they continued on.

“Is your foot still hurt?” he asked. Even though his voice was soft, there was still a rough edge to it.

Sansa kept on for a few more steps. “I may have broken it,” she admitted it. The pain had lasted too long to be a minor injury. Still, Sansa couldn’t put more than the smallest amount of weight on it. Though she was happy to be moving, she was in more pain than she was willing to admit. “I’ll be fine.”

The beast moved closer to her side. Though his hands were huge, he was gentle as he scooped her up with one arm. Then, they moved quickly through the hallways. Sansa clutched onto his tunic, closing her eyes to the air in her face. She was placed onto a plush surface, but she kept her eyes closed for a moment more. When she finally opened them, Sansa couldn’t even draw a breath.

She stared wide-eyed at the tall, full bookshelves that surrounded her. She twisted in her seat, ignoring the fine upholstery to gaze longingly at the hundreds of books that surrounded her. Without thinking, Sansa went to her feet and stepped toward a shelf. She collapsed immediately when the pain flared through her ankle. Again, she didn’t hit the floor. A thick arm was across her waist. Sansa twisted around, thanks on her lips.

“I can bring some to you,” he offered.

“How many are there?” Sansa asked.

“Books?” He looked around. “I’ve never counted.”

Sansa wasn’t deterred. She tried to right herself. “But you’ve read them?”

He nodded.

“Which others are your favorites?” Sansa asked eagerly.

He placed her back on the seat with the same toothy attempt at a smile. Then, he disappeared through the stacks. A while later, he returned with more books. Sansa held out her hands for them, reading the unfamiliar titles.

“How long have you been here?” Sansa asked gently.

“Years.”

“How many?”

“I haven’t counted.”

Sansa frowned. She kept her eyes on the books. “Why did you capture my father?”

“The man you released?” He paused. “There is a plant in the forest. A simple scratch from it will drive travelers mad. In my exile here, I have watched for these travelers. I tend to them until they can return home safely.”

Sansa blinked up at him. She never would have guessed. In her frantic attempt to save her father, she hadn’t even thought to see that her father was well. Sansa’s stomach was heavy. “Is my father…?”

“I couldn’t find him on the grounds,” he replied. “I hope he knew where he was going.”

“Did you find a horse?”

“No,” he said, “but I cannot move past the grounds. It could be anywhere.”

Sansa sat silently for a while. She fiddled with the book, wondering where she was left. There was still no use worrying. She had done all that she could. She had many curiosities, though. 

“What is your name?”

He looked up at her. He looked troubled. His snout had scrunched up. “I am called the Hound.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. “You don’t look like much of a hound,” Sansa said. “Surely, you have a true name.”

“It is the only thing I was ever called.”

Sansa cleared her throat gently. “Very well.” She selected a book and opened it to the first page. “Could I read to you, Hound?”

He sat on the carpet before her, nodding. Sansa knew there was more to his story, but she wasn’t going to push her luck. She needed to gain trust before that. Perhaps she could even make some discoveries on her own. But for now, she read.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa sat still, trying to keep her leg aloft. The Hound was knelt before her, wrapping her ankle in a bandage that kept getting tangled around his arm. Sansa sat patiently and kept herself from moving. After a few minutes, the Hound stepped away.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

Sansa let her leg fall, but she knew that the bandage wouldn’t allow her to walk. The pressure about her foot did give her a bit more freedom, though. She wouldn’t have to make sure it didn’t swing about anymore.

“It’s wonderful.” She smiled at him.

He held out his arm, and Sansa shuffled off the bed. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the library.

The new routine was warmly welcome. Each morning, Sansa received breakfast. While the Hound went to return her tray, she put on a gown. Then, he would carry her to the library. They sat for hours together. Sansa would read out loud until lunch. The Hound would leave to bring her more food, and Sansa read again until dinner. After dinner, Sansa returned to her room for a bath and a full night’s rest.

It was a good, comfortable routine. Sansa could voice no complaints about her predicament. However, she did have some suggestions.

“Do you cook all of the soups?” she asked, mopping up the broth with her bread.

“Yes,” the Hound said. He reached out for her tray. “It’s all I can manage. I’m afraid I cannot hold a knife or spoon.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. “How do you cut the—?”

He bared his claws.

“That explains the variation in size,” Sansa mused. She passed over the tray. “Don’t you grow bored of soup?”

The Hound huffed out a breath of air, making the fur under his chin move about. “I have no need for soup,” he said brusquely. “I can hunt.”

Sansa quenched the uneasy feeling in her stomach. Of course he hunted. It only made sense. Sansa could see his sharp teeth, accentuated fangs, and knew that his claws could rip skin open. He was only ever gentle with her, though. If she chose, he would seem like no more than a very helpful pet. The Hound was far too clever for something that submissive.

Clearing her throat gently, Sansa said, “Wouldn’t you like something special?” she asked. “What meal do you miss the most?”

He gave her a curious look.

Sansa nearly balked, but her voice continued on, “From when you were human.”

The Hound blinked at her. “Why would you say I was human?”

“Well—” Sansa swallowed hard “—you have favorite stories, manage these grounds, and your soups are fantastic. I just guessed that was because…”

A low sound came from the back of his throat that might have been a chuckle. “I was cursed into this form,” he said. The Hound pulled the tray closer to his body, narrowing his eyes and shrinking in on himself. “I am to be the subject of mockery and feared until I meet my end.”

Sansa twisted her mouth. She wanted to know more, but he was sure to flee soon. She changed course. “So what food do you miss?”

“I cannot remember the last time I had something sweet.”

Sansa smiled. “Take me to the kitchens.” She scooted forward in her chair. “I can bake.”

Managing the kitchens was a challenge. The Hound placed Sansa on the counter while he went in search of a stool. During that time, Sansa twisted about to investigate the cabinets around her. Though the rest of the castle was still rather dusty, the kitchens were in fairly good order. Sansa didn’t even have time to think on it.

She slid her way over the counter and lifted the lids of the pots on the stove. One was filled with the soup she just had for lunch, but the others had chopped vegetables at the bottom of them. With water, they would become simple vegetable soups. Sansa smiled, placing the lid back. She looked around for a bowl and found one just out of reach. Shuffling forward, she reached out, trying to grasp onto the bowl. Sansa bit her tongue, pressed her good foot onto the cabinet below her, and threw herself forward. She toppled forward, sliding off the counter.

Sansa gasped, but she didn’t reach the floor. The Hound caught her awkwardly over his forearm. She sheepishly held up the bowl. Shaking his head, the Hound placed her on the stool.

“If you don’t keep still, your ankle will never heal,” he said. “Tell me what you need. I’ll fetch everything for you.”

While Sansa wasn’t very happy about being asked to sit still, the method did work well. She looked into every cabinet he opened, hoping it would remind her if she was forgetting any important ingredients. Most were in sturdy containers and suffered no harm from being brought by the Hound. The sugar wasn’t so lucky. One of his claws pierced the bag, allowing a stream of sugar to escape. Sansa placed the bowl under it, catching the fallen sugar. She rolled the bag over so that it wouldn’t continue to spill. Then, she looked to the amount in her bowl.

“It may be a bit sweeter than usual,” Sansa said, shaking the mixture around, “but I won’t complain. Do you have a spoon?”

The Hound had a difficult time picking the spoon from the drawer, but he simple took out the drawer and brought it to her. Sansa laughed for a few minutes before she managed to take the spoon that she needed. Then, she giggled as the Hound struggled to replace the drawer.

The process was significantly longer than it should have been. Sansa took her time, carefully stirring through the mixture. It had also been some time since she had sweets, so she wanted to make sure that they would come out perfectly. She had a difficult time describing what kind of container they needed to bake in. The Hound had nearly emptied the cabinet of pans before she settled on one. Then, they sat around the kitchen while it baked.

Sansa knew that it would be some time, but she didn’t want to leave lest her desserts burn. She filled the silence with chatter before the Hound could leave. Had he chose, Sansa would likely still be reading. Much as Sansa enjoyed it, she missed talking aimlessly. It was comforting to voice her own thoughts and ramble on about nothing.

The Hound sat patiently, watching her with focus as she chattered away. He nodded occasionally, encouraging her to continue. Even though he was slightly burrowed into his arm and he looked a bit like a mound of fur, Sansa knew he was listening. At the right moments, he would look up with his brow furrowed. His grey eyes were brighter, searching for more information. Sansa was always happy to answer his unasked questions.

When the smells began to waft through the kitchen, Sansa gave him careful instruction to check that it was finished completely. She had to swat his massive hands away a few times when he tried to pull the pan from the oven without mitts. Sansa made him fetch towels and wrapped them over his hands before she let him take the cake from the oven.

He closed the oven and shook his hands, but the towels didn’t come off. A low snarl built in the back of his throat.

Clicking her tongue, Sansa beckoned him over. She pulled a towel loose and unwrapped his hand. He waited impatiently while she folded the towel, flexing his free hand. When he had both hands back, the Hound rubbed his hands over each other and combed through parts of his mane. Sansa sat with her hands clasped over the stack of towels.

“I could have taken it out,” the Hound muttered.

“You would have burned yourself,” Sansa said evenly. “Hand me a knife.”

The Hound brought over the entire knife block. Sansa pulled a few out until she found a blade that would work. Then she sliced into the cake and pulled out a slice. The Hound held out his hands for the slice, but Sansa asked for a plate. He brought over a tray.

Sansa placed the slice down before cutting another one. She picked up a fork and moved toward the tray. The Hound was scowling.

“Do you not like lemon cake?” Sansa asked.

The Hound brow furrowed, causing a ripple across his fur. “I cannot hold a fork.”

Sansa paused. She spun the fork in her fingers for a moment. Then, she placed in down. With her bare hand, Sansa grabbed her slice. She held it up. The Hound carefully worked his claws beneath his own slice, cracking the cake in a few places. Though much of his cake was crumbling, the Hound held up his slice. Sansa smiled and took a small bite.

It had been too long since she’d had anything sweet. Despite having had lunch not too long ago, Sansa knew that she was salivating. The cake was sweeter than she remembered, but Sansa savored the tart lemon flavor. She went to take another bite when she caught sight of the Hound.

His massive hands were pressed up against his face, covering his mouth. The bob of his mane showed that his jaw was working hard to keep his chewing unnoticed. When we finally pulled his hands away, Sansa couldn’t help her laughter. There was a mess of crumbs all over the beard of his mane. Some had even slipped away to his tunic.

The Hound tried to brush himself off, grumbling all the while. Sansa put her piece down and beckoned him over. Then, she carefully picked out the remaining crumbs from his fur.

“I daresay you need a bath,” she said.

The Hound scowled.

“Here.” Sansa cut another piece of the cake. This time, she broke it up into smaller pieces for him. “Have some more before you clean up.”

Frowning, the Hound grabbed at the small pieces. He ate vigorously, and Sansa finished up her piece. After he finished, he frowned down at the pan. “I had more than you.”

Sansa shrugged. “Well, you’re bigger.”

He let out a huff of air. Sansa hoped it was meant to be a laugh. Then, he held out a hand to her. “I’ll take you to the library, Sansa.”

“Then, you’ll have a bath,” Sansa said, “but don’t worry. I won’t continue the story without you.”

Sansa was true to her word. She didn’t continue reading until the Hound returned. He looked much better. There was even a shine to his dark fur. Sansa made no comment on it, but she wondered how long it had been since his last bath. When he carried her back to the room after nightfall, Sansa could feel how much softer his fur was, idly running her fingers through his mane.

“Is this your home?” Sansa turned on the bench. They were out in the gardens today. Being inside had gotten to Sansa, and the Hound had brought her outside at her request. It was a bright day, but the weather was turning. It looked like it would snow soon.

The Hound nodded. He walked through the garden with a bucket, pouring delicate amounts of water over the plants. When the bucket was empty, he walked to a well and filled the bucket again.

“Won’t they freeze?” Sansa asked.

The Hound shook his head. “The weather won’t hit here,” he said. “The city will have a small amount of snow. The castle is safe.”

Sansa nodded. She had hoped for some snow. It reminded her of home. Sansa did like smelling the flowers. Just the change of scenery had done wonders. Sansa was content watching the birds fly overhead as the Hound tended to the garden. “How far can you go?”

The Hound looked up. He returned to watering the garden. “In the grounds?” he asked, heading toward the well. “I can enter the forest for now, but I cannot travel as deep as I used to. The more time passes, the less space I can walk freely.”

Sansa fiddled with a nearby rose. “And it’s a curse?”

The Hound nodded. He kept moving systematically through the gardens.

“How do you break it?”

The Hound froze. “What do you mean?”

“All curses can be broken,” Sansa said simply. “Surely, you’ve discovered that, in all the stories that we’ve read.”

“I am still discovering all parts of the curse,” the Hound said. He watered another row of the plants. “I do not believe it was intended to be broken. It is a punishment.”

“For what?” Sansa was no longer preoccupied with asking too many questions. She had spent so much time with him and told him so much about herself that she didn’t find it to be an issue anymore.

The Hound took a while to respond. “My father was not a good man,” he said. “Whenever my brother would commit one of his many atrocious acts, my father protected him. My family was visited by a woman once, and my brother saw it fit to harass her. She was a witch, and she cast this curse for his acts and his protectors.”

“Where is your family?” Sansa’s voice was scarcely a whisper.

The Hound continued to water the plants as he replied. “My mother saw it fit to put my sister out of her misery,” he said. “Then, she killed herself for it. When my father found her, he took his own life for it. I buried them in the forest.”

Sansa swallowed. “And your brother?”

“He liked to stalk the woods, content being the best predator,” the Hound hissed out. “He was poached.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The Hound waved a hand. “It was a long time ago.”

Sansa caught his wrist as he passed her. She waited for him to turn to her. “I’m sorry for your loss, my Hound.”

He bowed his head to her, placing the bucket down on the bench. “Shall we return to the castle?”

Before Sansa could respond, she was lifted from the bench. They headed back inside, and the Hound took her to the kitchens. Since she had taken to baking, they now had their meals there before selecting one of the desserts that Sansa had prepared. Sometimes, she would offer to cook something, but the Hound couldn’t manage meat pies and preferred his meat rare. Besides, Sansa was fine with soup.

\--

The morning light bled in as usual. In the distance, she could see mountains topped with snow. It would be difficult to return home now. Though the horses could manage, two weeks of harsh snow was a lot to travel through. Sansa sighed. Her father would be stuck with Arya, then. He must be recovered by now. It had been long enough. They might even be coming to fetch her soon.

Sansa pushed that thought from her mind. She missed her family dearly, but she didn’t want to think of what would happen to the Hound when she left. Who would read to him? Bake him desserts? Accompany him through the grounds? What would happen to him without her? If it was as he said, then he would soon be confined to the castle. If he couldn’t hunt for food, he’d die of starvation. Sansa couldn’t bear the thought.

Sliding from the bed, Sansa stepped onto the stone floor. She pressed onto her ankle. She hadn’t risked it at first, but there was only the smallest amount of pain now. There was only a small ache where there used to be sharp, shooting pain. She could walk again. Walking would mean to return home. She would have to make that trip soon.

Sansa bathed and dressed before breakfast. The Hound knocked gently before entering with a tray of food.

“How are you feeling?” the Hound asked, taking a seat beside her.

“I was just thinking.” Sansa avoided the question entirely. “I’ve been across the grounds with you, read many books with you, and shared countless meals with you—”

“One hundred thirty-seven,” the Hound interjected.

Sansa paused. “What?”

The Hound looked at her. “I have brought you one hundred and thirty-seven meals.”

“Then, I believe I should know your name,” Sansa said simply. “It only seems right.”

He remained quiet for a while. Sansa nibbled at her breakfast, waiting for his response.

“I am no prince,” he said softly. “My name and my titles are of no consequence. I will not return to my human form, and I would not be better for it. This is not one of those stories. I cannot give you that happy ending.”

Sansa set her mouth. “I did not ask for you titles,” she said sternly, “or what you looked like. I asked for your name. I do not wish to call you ‘Hound’ when you haven’t the snout or ears of one.”

The edge of his mouth twisted up into a smile. “I was called Sandor.”

“Sandor.” Sansa smiled. “Sandor. Sandor. _Sandor_.”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Making up for all the times I’ve had to call you ‘the Hound’,” Sansa shot back. She looked around. “Though I suppose I could do that on the way to the library…”

Sandor held out his arm. “I’d like to show you something today.”

Sansa gestured for him to lead the way, but he scooped her into his arms. She forgot that she was supposed to be injured. She pressed her cheek into the soft fur of his mane, better now that he had taken to bathing more often.

The Hound took her around to a section of the castle she hadn’t entered before. He stopped outside of huge double doors. Sansa held onto his neck as he opened a door. She craned her neck to try to peak into the room, but it was ridiculously dark. Sandor carried her in and placed her down.

“Can you stand for a moment?” he asked. “I’ll be right back.”

Sansa muttered out her assent, wrapping her arms about her. She listened to Sandor’s steps as they faded away. Then, a stream of light entered the room. Sansa gasped. The room was gilded and shining, sparkling with the light from the sun. The embellishments were beautifully carved on every column around the room. Even the ceiling was painted with a gorgeous mural.

Leaning her head back to look at it, Sansa tripped over her feet. She stumbled for a moment before a thick arm caught her.

“I’m sorry,” Sandor said, righting her. “Are you alright?”

“Sandor, this is beautiful!” Sansa twisted around to beam at him. “Is it a ballroom?”

He nodded. “I thought you might like it,” he said slowly, “and I hoped, that when you were healed—before you left—you might like to dance.”

Sansa smiled. “I would love to dance with you.” She shuffled away. “Though… I… could I do it when I return?”

His heavy brow furrowed. “Return?”

“The weather is turning, Sandor,” Sansa explained slowly. “Traveling back to town will be impossible once snow falls. If I left soon, I could make it back before the weather turned.”

Sandor’s face fell. “Of course,” he muttered. “I am keeping you from your family.”

“You are keeping me from nothing,” Sansa insisted. “You have housed me and fed me and kept me safe while I recovered. I am nothing but thankful for my time here—with you.”

Sandor didn’t respond. He placed an arm around her waist and brought her to the front door. Sansa furrowed her brow, turning to look at him. He produced a thick cane.

“There are a few horses nearby,” he said. “If you enter the forest to the north, you will find them. I will scare them off if I escort you.” He turned to the castle, sinking into the shadows within.

Sansa rushed back into the castle, grasping Sandor’s fingers. She pulled him about to face him. “I will not leave you here,” she said. “I will return.”

“You have your family, Sansa.”

She stared up at him, trying to find the light in his grey eyes. Sansa smiled gently, pressed up onto her toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll come back.”

Sandor kept his head bowed. “Goodbye, Sansa.”

Sansa stayed in the doorway, watching Sandor trudge to the stairs and climb out of sight. She looked around at the front room of the castle. There was much less dust about than when she first entered—side effects of living in a place fully. Sandor would be alone until she returned. She grasped the cane firmly in a hand and headed toward the forest.

Her trip would be short.


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa led her horse directly to the stable behind the shop. Their two horses were tied up, and they didn’t stir at her presence. Sansa affixed the other and made sure it had food and water before going to check the state of affairs in the shop. With her hands in front of her, Sansa fidgeted with her fingers as she went to the door. Through the window, she couldn’t see anyone at the counter, but when she opened the door, a bell rang out.

Sansa turned around, inspected the new device. It was handy, and probably better since she hadn’t been here to tend to the shopfront.

Noisy footfalls came from the back room. “Forgot the lock. I’m sorry, you’ll have to—”

Arya stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open. “Sansa!”

Sansa raised a hand to wave, but Arya leapt clear over the counter and tackled her sister in a hug. Sansa wrapped her arms around her sister, but Arya was quickly pulling away. She grasped at Sansa’s arms, shoulders, pulled at her hair, and even squeezed Sansa’s face between her hands.

After a moment, Arya stepped back. “Where have you been? What are you wearing?”

Sansa looked down. She had forgotten which gown she put on that morning. It felt so long ago. She opened her mouth to respond, but Arya silenced her with another hug.

“I missed you.”

Sansa leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Arya sighed, stepping slightly away. “I didn’t know what happened,” she said. “When father got back—”

“Father’s back?” Sansa looked around the room. “How is he?”

The corner of Arya’s mouth twitched down. “It’s difficult to tell,” she said. “I’ve had a physician over, and Father is fine… but he lashes out often. It’s like…”

Sansa reached for Arya’s wrist. “Like what?”

Arya shook her head. “He thought you died.” She let out a huge breath. “I wanted to go after you, but I couldn’t leave him. Between his care, and managing the shop myself, I’ve been busy. Every sellsword I found wouldn’t take the job either, no matter the gold I offered. They said the place was haunted… I tried to go after you, Sansa. Honest.”

A soft smile appeared on Sansa’s face. She hugged her sister again. “I’m fine,” she said. “Everything will be okay. Will you take me to father?”

“Wait here.” Arya disappeared into the back room and came back with a heavy key. “I had to lock him in,” she explained. “He kept trying to escape.”

Sansa felt a wave of guilt. She didn’t know what she could have done for her father had she been here, but she wished she could change things. The thought immediately corrected itself. She didn’t want to change things. She wanted to keep her story—her memories of her time in the castle. She wouldn’t forget Sandor.

Arya carefully unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Good,” she said. “He’s sleeping.”

Ned was sprawled on the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess beneath him. He looked troubled, even in his sleep. Sansa followed Arya in. Her sister went straight to a tray.

“At least he ate,” she said.

Sansa took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Careful,” Arya warned. “He’s lashed at me before.”

Sansa placed a hand on her father’s arm. Then, she placed a hand on his cheek, feeling his overgrown beard. His eyes flickered open. Ned lurched forward for a moment before he froze. He whispered out, “Cat?”

“No, Papa,” said Sansa. “It’s me. Sansa.”

His eyes crisscrossed over her face. Slowly, his mouth turned into a smile. “Sansa,” he breathed out. “How are you here? How are you safe? _What did he do to you?_ ”

Sansa recoiled at the changed in his voice. “Nothing,” she sputtered. “Nothing. I’m fine. I’m here. I’m safe.”

Ned slumped forward, as if his body was overcome with exhaustion. He rested his head on her shoulder before drifted off to unconsciousness. Arya came over and shifted his weight to the bed. She went to retrieve the tray and beckoned Sansa to follow her out.

Sansa followed her sister around as she locked up the shop. After a few minutes, they were back in their shared room with some food. There wasn’t a soup in sight. Sansa missed it.

“What happened?”

Sansa looked to Arya with her brow slightly furrowed. Arya vaguely gestured to her.

“Oh.” Taking a deep breath, Sansa prepared to tell her story. “I went for father, following the directions you gave, but on the way, I fell from the horse and injured my foot.” That was the one detail Sansa had to change. She couldn’t allow Arya the slightest possibility that Sandor had harmed her. That simply wasn’t true. “I found him in the dungeons of a castle. He was caged and rabid. I did everything I could to get him out, but he wouldn’t leave without locking me in first.”

“He locked you away?” Arya asked.

Sansa shook her head. “Not like that,” she said. “He didn’t know better. There’s a plant in the forest that will drive travelers mad with a scratch. He was afflicted.”

“How did you get out?”

“The keeper of the castle found me,” Sansa said. “He explained that he had been caring for Father while he recovered, but he also offered me safety while I recovered. He gave me my own rooms, clothes, books… He brought me all my meals and tended to my injuries.”

Arya’s brow furrowed. “Who was he?”

Sansa swallowed. “Just the groundskeeper.”

“Father has been muttering about a horrible beast who trapped him,” Arya said.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “He may not look handsome,” she said, “and he has features that are rather beastly, but he’s very kind.”

Arya frowned. “Beastly how?” she asked. “Claws? Fangs? Fur? Don’t lie, Sansa. Father was very descriptive.”

“I’m not lying,” Sansa insisted. “Yes, he has claws and fangs and fur, but he has never harmed me. He only kept me housed.”

“He speaks?” Arya asked.

Sansa nodded.

“And he dressed you like a little porcelain doll.”

“They were his mother’s dresses,” Sansa said. “Before—”

Arya’s eyebrows shot up, but Sansa didn’t continue. Arya huffed out a breath.

Sansa closed her eyes. She knew how it would sound—how Arya would react. She didn’t want to be thought less of because of this. It didn’t do either of them justice. Still, her sister had been working while she recovered. She deserved the truth. “His family was cursed.”

Arya groaned. “And he’s a prince, and you’re his true love,” she finished. “You’ll be begging to return to break his curse and live your days as a princess. We don’t live in one of your stories, Sansa. This isn’t a faerie tale.”

“I never said it was.” Sansa’s voice was sharper than she intended.

Sounds of their father turning about his bed reached them through the walls. They waited for silence to return. During that time, Arya finished up her dinner and dressed for bed. Sansa followed the cues, finding her old clothes and sliding into the sheets.

“Good,” Arya finally said. “We can pack and head home soon. Father needs a proper physician. None of this lot can manage. Goodnight, Sansa.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. Her heart ached. She knew that she couldn’t leave Sandor on his own. She refused to make his life worse. Besides, she owed him a dance.

\--

Life in the shop was different from what Sansa remembered. Arya gave her menial tasks to complete in the back room. She set about polishing things and cleaning up while Arya worked the shopfront. Sansa listened in on her sister’s attempt at good-natured haggling, but Arya had always been much more abrasive than she was. It wasn’t how she would have handled any of those transactions, but Arya was doing quite well at making sales and encouraging customers to buy more than they came in for.

Sansa also made many trips to visit her father. Ned spent most of the time asleep, only becoming lucid for short times throughout the day. He often confused her with her mother, which Sansa didn’t like. She wasn’t her mother. She was actively planning on forsaking her duty so she could act in the way she believed was right.

Arya set to the forge in the afternoon. Though they were in the same room, Arya didn’t talk. Sansa nearly started conversations until she realized why. Arya was already making a terrific amount of sound just by completing her crafts, but she needed to keep her ears peeled to hear the bell that signaled a customer had entered the shop.

It was rather dull work for Sansa. She knew that her sister had needed to adapt while she was gone. Sansa just couldn’t understand why she was here. There could have been more value to her time, even just brightening Sandor’s day.

“When were you thinking of heading out to Winterfell?” Sansa asked that night.

Arya scrunched up her face. “I need to finish my current projects,” she said. “I have customers expecting items for pickup through the fortnight. By then, the snow might be too much… We might have to wait for winter’s end.”

Sansa nodded. She had been thinking of a way to word her question without sounding horrible to her sister. Not a question. A statement. She would do this. She had to. “I’m going to return to the castle.”

“No,” Arya said firmly.

“I’m doing nothing here,” Sansa said. “You don’t need me. Besides, I took a horse. I should return it.”

“And if a storm hits?” Arya asked. “You’ll be stuck there.”

Sansa bit her tongue. That was exactly what she was hoping for. “I’d be safe there,” she said. “I’ll return before spring. You won’t have to worry about me.”

Arya narrowed her eyes at her. “And what of Father?”

Sansa sighed. “There is nothing I can do for Father,” she said. “He doesn’t even know me. He calls me Cat every day.”

Arya threw herself onto her bed. “So you’ll just leave him like that,” she said. “Run off to your prince…”

“He’s not a prince,” corrected Sansa, “but he is alone. He also cared for travelers with the same affliction as Father. He may know a cure.”

The room was filled with silence for a long time. Arya rolled about her bed until she was under her blankets. Sansa braided her hair back and settled herself in the rough sheets. The candle was blown out, and they were in darkness for a long moment.

Finally, Arya said, “Do what you must, Sansa. I’m going to keep our father alive.”

\--

The slight from Arya was not quickly forgotten. Sansa took two days more to make trips around town, preparing meals and retrieving medicines before she even considered leaving. She would not have Arya thinking her as some useless lady. She knew her worth. She would prove it. Sansa spent a great while in the bookshop the second day, profusely apologizing for her tardiness and telling the shopkeeper about two of the stories she recalled from her reading with Sandor. She refused to take any extra books, knowing that she would soon have too many to read in her lifetime.

Though Sansa had carefully sorted and stored prepared meals, set aside medicines for their father, and done all the washing, Arya still glared at her when she left in the morning. Sansa prepared her horse with a small sack. She adjusted all her material while Arya scowled at her.

“Here.” Sansa held out the dagger that Arya had given her weeks ago.

Arya quickly unsheathed the blade. “What did you do to it?”

“I tried to unlock the cage that held Father with it,” Sansa said. She led her horse from the stable, knowing that she’s simply return it to the forest when she arrived at the castle.

Arya handed the dagger back. “Keep it.”

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t need it.”

With a groan, Arya pressed it into her hand. “You could encounter anyone on those roads,” she said. “Take it.”

Sansa slid the blade out of sight. “Thank you.”

“And come back,” Arya said. 

Sansa gave her a quick smile. “I will.”

Before Arya could raise any further complaints, Sansa took off. She remembered the original directions, though it had been some time since she read them. The road was much like she remembers, but the sun was rising. It did little to light her way as she entered the canopy of the forest. Sansa followed the trail easily, though her horse didn’t take direction well.

It was a small effort to keep her horse focused, but Sansa managed it well enough. She saw the break in the trees ahead, revealing a large stone structure. Sansa urged the horse forward, but it balked. The horse chose a roundabout route that led deeper into the forest despite Sansa’s protests. She kept turning the horse, trying to aim for her destination.

The horse reared. Without a saddle, Sansa slid clean off its back. She scurried out of the way, knowing the damage that a horse could do. The horse whinnied loudly, huffed out air and raced off. Sansa watched the horse go, thinking that it was responding to Sandor’s presence. She had once reacted similarly to him. Instead of making for the castle directly, Sansa aimed in the direction the horse had been avoiding.

She pushed her way through the thicket and found another short trail. Perhaps Sandor was in the woods today. Sansa pressed on. She knew Sandor had a limit to his travels, and she wondered if the forest here was too deep for him. Her stomach fell, and Sansa turned to look for the castle.

The wood was too thick. She couldn’t see it anymore. Sansa picked up her sack and headed off, trying to retrace her steps. She looked for signs that were familiar, but she couldn’t distinguish them from the directions she had followed before. Gripping the sack in both hands, Sansa chose a direction. She tried to find the direction where the trees were further apart. However, she ended up turning herself around multiple times.

There was enough time in the day that Sansa wasn’t worried. The usual sounds of the forest didn’t bother her yet, so Sansa paid no mind to the twigs snapping or the distant animal noises. She set off with a positive attitude, knowing that she had plenty of time to find her way back to the castle. Sansa set off, searching for a path, a stream, a river, anything that might lead her to a place where she could see the castle.

Sansa wandered for long enough that the sun was soon overhead. Her feet kept moving, leading her to new parts of the forest. She had already considered climbing a tree to regain her sense of direction, but these were not trees that could be climbed. They were all too thin with boughs that didn’t look like they could bear weight. This must be the younger part of the forest—perhaps the part that had grown into the grounds of Sandor’s castle. With that in mind, Sansa actively sought out any trees that appeared to be thinner, hoping that they would lead her to the castle. 

Eventually, the sky began to grow dark. Sansa look around, trying to figure out where the sun was setting. She thought back to her time in the castle, wondering if she could remember where the castle was most likely to be. Sansa wandered about, growing increasingly jittery at the sounds of the forest around her.

Though Sansa tried to push down her fear, she felt pure terror at the unmistakable sound of growling. Keeping her movements as small as possible, Sansa kept on. She searched for a path desperately, trying to move away from the noises. Every sound made her jump, and she had to force herself not to become paralyzed with fear.

A snarl came from behind her. Sansa took off. She ran without thinking of what lay ahead or what was behind. The blood was pumping too loudly in her ears for her to hear anything, but Sansa didn’t want to know. She rushed through the woods and tried to keep her footing. In a few short meters, she stumbled. Instead of trudging on, Sansa rolled behind a tree and held her breath. There wasn’t any chance of outrunning whatever was behind her. So she hid.

With her eyes shut tight and her heart pounding in her ears, Sansa didn’t know what was happening around her. After a moment, she looked around. When her heartbeat slowed, Sansa kept loud snarls and growls coming from behind her. Safe as she seemed to be, Sansa knew it wouldn’t last if she didn’t know what was going on.

Sansa slowly got to her feet. She stepped around the tree and watched the massive form of Sandor facing off against two wolves. While Sansa felt the urge to flee, she couldn’t leave, not when Sandor was in danger because he was saving her. Sansa stood by, watching as the wolves circled about, biting and scratching at Sandor. At her distance, Sansa couldn’t tell if they were doing any damage, but she was worried for his safety. With quick steps forward, Sandor made swipes at the wolves, knocking them into trees with enough force to make them run off.

Sansa let out a breath and rushed to his side. “Sandor? Are you okay?”

He brushed her off. There was a multitude of cuts across his arms and chest, some bleeding rather profusely. However, Sandor was holding onto a thin cut than ran across his thigh. He stumbled through the forest.

Sansa followed after him cautiously. She could help once he was back in the castle. She knew where bandages were, but she couldn’t carry his there. He was much too heavy. Though she suspected her progress would be slow, Sandor moved quickly. Sansa was soon out of breath keeping up. They made it into open grounds, and Sansa caught sight of a bright red flower in his hand. She didn’t know when he had grabbed it, only that he was clutching onto it with a tight grip.

When they reached the doors of the castle, Sansa tried to lead Sandor to a seat. However, Sandor immediately headed off against the wall and down a flight of stairs. Sansa slowly followed after him. Sounds of crashing and shattering objects met Sansa’s ears. She stepped slowly into the dungeon, finding the same cage where her Father had been trapped before.

The table was turned over, and there was a broken bowl on the ground. Sansa also spotted the red flower in a puddle on the floor. Sandor was inside the cage, fumbling with the key to lock himself in.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked. She rushed over to free him. “I can help.”

“ _No!_ ” roared Sandor. His hands were shaking as he turned the lock. “Do not… open… this… door.”

Sansa nodded, taking the key through the bars.

A look of agony cross Sandor’s face, making the fur covering him ripple and stand on edge. He doubled over, clutching at his arms as if to hold himself together. He fell to the ground and let out a strangled roar.

Grasping onto the bars, Sansa went to her knees. She wanted to move closer and provide what comfort she could, but she had specific instructions to keep the door shut. Still, there had to be something she could do.

“Sandor,” Sansa whispered. She cleared her throat. It was impossible for him to hear her above the sounds of his own noise. “Sandor, what do you need? How can I help?”

He didn’t respond. Sandor continued to writhe on the floor, a constant rumble coming from deep in his chest. He was curled up on his side and turned away from her, and Sansa watched him for a long time.

She was just as useless here as she was back in the shop. However, Sansa was determined to find a good use for her time. She waited until Sandor calmed down a bit and repeated her query, but Sandor didn’t give her the slightest inclination of hearing her. When his volume increased again, Sansa sought a purpose for herself.

After righting the table and picking up the fallen objects, Sansa gathered up the broken shards of a bowl and left the dungeon. She went to the kitchens and dumped the broken bowl into a basket of trash. Then, she served herself a bowl of soup and filled another with water for Sandor. Before returning to the dungeon, Sansa went off to the library. She found a volume they hadn’t read before and brought it with her back to the kitchens. Sansa arranged everything on a tray, adding a few candles and matches. Then, she made her way back to the dungeon.

Sansa placed the tray on the table before leaving to find a chair she could bring down for herself. The chair went by the table, and Sansa placed the bowl of water into a tight corner. It likely wouldn’t spill there, but Sansa could always get more. She settled by the table, slowly sipping at her soup as she watched Sandor. He showed no signs of improvement, staying huddled on the floor.

His position didn’t give her much to go off of, but he was shaking somewhat. He looked cold. Sansa took her bowl back to the kitchens and searched about for his cloak. She knew he had one. She had seen him wear it a few times, but it took a good amount of searching before she found one that looked big enough in a closet. Taking it back to the basement, Sansa looked around the castle. She was searching for anything else that might need her attention, but her mind was utterly preoccupied.

Back in the basement, Sansa worked the cloak into the cage. She kept it close to her so she could try to fan it out over Sandor. It took a lot of effort, but Sansa managed to get the cloak over a part of his body. Sandor didn’t acknowledge the fabric at all, nor did his shivering lessen. Sansa sighed. She didn’t know what else she could do without entering the cage herself.

Sansa fell into the chair. She reached for the book. It likely wouldn’t provide Sandor much comfort, but it was all Sansa could think to do. She cleared her throat, opened the book, and began to read.


	7. Chapter 7

The candle provided the only source of light in the room. It was flickering and casting shadows about. Sansa had given up on reading by the limited light a while ago. She knew that it would only grow to be more difficult, and Sandor hadn’t shown any indication that he could hear her. Her cloak was pulled tight over her, acting as a poor substitution for a blanket. She was close to falling asleep on the table when a distinct sound hit her ears.

Sansa sat up slightly. She looked into the cage. The bowl was missing. She must have dozed off. Surely, she would have heard it when it was moved. It was now in the far edge of the cage, close to Sandor’s head and empty. She could reach it if she extended her arm out. After all, she should refill it and grab a thicker blanket before returning for the night.

On her knees, Sansa reached for the bowl, trying not to scrape it against the floor. She carefully managed to bring the bowl to the bars of the cage.

“S-sans…a.”

She nearly dropped the bowl. “Sandor?” she asked back. “Are you okay? What can I do?”

His throat rumbled for a moment. “T-t-tea,” he croaked out.

“Okay,” Sansa whispered. “I can make you some tea. What kind?”

“W-with… flower…”

Sansa furrowed her brows. “With the flower?” she asked.

Sandor’s head bowed slightly.

“Which part?” Sansa asked. “The whole thing?”

No response.

“The petals?”

His head moved again.

“Okay.” Sansa stood up. She stared at the flower on the table. Its deep red color looked darker in the low light. Something about the flower made Sansa uneasy. Careful not to touch the flower any more than she already had, Sansa used the book to push the flower into the bowl. Sansa took the bowl to the kitchen, wondering if this flower was ultimately responsible for most of what had happened recently.

Still, Sansa exercised extreme caution when handling the flower. She placed a towel over the thorned stem before plucking off the petals. Then, she brought a sizeable pot of water to a boil before putting all of the petals in. Almost immediately, the color seeped out of the petal, dyeing the water a dark red. It could have been mistaken for wine. It was dark enough to make Sansa worry, so she found another pot and separated out half of the liquid. Then, she fished out some petals with the help of a spoon.

Sansa added a good amount of water to both pots, but the color didn’t change. It remained an extremely pigmented red. Holding her sleeve back, Sansa dipped the bowl into the tea and filled it to the brim. After placing the bowl on the tray, Sansa hurried back to the dungeon. She dropped to her knees and slid the entire tray under the bars.

“I brought the tea, Sandor,” she said, nudging it forward. “Is there anything else you need?”

Sandor shook his head roughly. He braced himself on trembling arms and slid the tray closer to his mouth. He was still facing away from her, but Sansa could hear him slurping up the tea. She stayed on the floor, waiting further instructions in case Sandor needed more tea. After a while, he pushed the tray toward the bars of the cage. The bowl was empty.

“What else do you need?” Sansa asked. She was eager to help, if there was anything that would help him to heal faster.

Sandor responded with a single word. “Time.”

His clawed fingers popped up over his shoulder, piercing into the cloak. Sandor dragged it over himself, curling over and moving into a tighter ball.

\--  


With her post, Sansa kept careful watch over how Sandor was doing. He didn’t seem to be exhibiting any of the behaviors she expected, and she wished she could enter the cage with him to give him greater comfort. As it was, all she managed was to refill the bowl with tea every few hours. When she wasn’t tending to his meager meals, she remembered to care for herself. Sansa bathed daily, though she always waited until Sandor was sleeping to do so. She also fed herself regularly with the vat of soup Sandor left on the stove. The remainder of the time, Sansa waited in the dungeon. She read softly through the book she brought, looking for signs that Sandor could hear her.

He didn’t move much, but he seemed to be growing weak. His form looked smaller, even covered in the cloak. It was too dark for Sansa to make out any particular details, but from what she could see, his fur was thinning as well. It would take him a long time to recover.

Three days after he began drinking tea, Sansa was fully accustomed to her new routine. She was returning to the dungeon from her bath when a new sight greeted her: Sandor was standing. He was definitely hunched over—though he still towered over her. His hands were holding the cloak closed at his neck.

“Sandor?” she called. She ducked a bit to see his face beneath the hood, but it was entirely covered in shadows. “What’s wrong? Do you need more tea?”

Sandor shook his head. “No,” he said. Something was off about his voice. It didn’t have the same deep resonance as before. “I need rest. Could you take me to my bed?”

Sansa smiled. She had been awaiting his recovery. Since his regular drinking of the tea, Sandor hadn’t been murmuring in his sleep anymore, and she was convinced that he was back to normal. She retrieved the key and unlocked the door, stepping aside so Sandor could hobble out. She watched the dragging cloak until it completely cleared the cage and entered for the bowl and tray. Then, Sansa slowly followed Sandor up the stairs.

He moved slowly—much slower than Sansa had ever seen him move before. His height was nothing to balk at, but Sansa knew he wasn’t at his tallest. She’d have to wait for that part of his recovery. Keeping her pace behind him, Sansa waited until they approached the table in the hall. She wanted to put down the tray before helping him to his room.

Sansa skirted around him. She stretched out to place the tray down and glanced back to him. The tray didn’t make it to the table. It crashed to the floor with a loud _CLANG_. The bowl shattered.

“Sansa?” Sandor turned to face her. His took a step toward her.

Her eyes flickered down, watching as a bare foot poked out from the hem of the cloak. Sansa’s jaw dropped at seeing flesh, uncovered by the mess of fur that she knew. The claws were missing, as well. Sansa took a step away, crashing into the table.

“Sansa, what’s wrong?” Sandor reached toward her.

Sansa scarcely had time to register that he had a human hand devoid of claws and fur, when his hood dropped back.

The black hair matched his fur, but that was only resemblance Sansa saw to what she knew from before. The skin on the left side of his face was twisted and scarred, shining bright and stretching down to his throat. He didn’t appear to have a left ear. The other side of his face was bony, showing sharp cheekbones and a heavy brow. His hooked nose balanced out his face, but Sansa was searching for some sign that this was the same man from before.

She found it in his eyes. Sandor’s eyes were sunken, and they showed his exhaustion. However, Sansa was fixated on the color. She knew the grey of them. Throughout his transformation, his eyes remained the same, simply surrounded by different features.

Stretching her arms behind her, Sansa groped across the surface of the table for a plate or tray—anything that could be used as a looking glass. Her fingers found the thin edge of something. Sansa glanced at it quickly, checking how reflective it was, before she held it up to Sandor.

He stumbled backward.

Again, Sansa dropped the plate and let it clatter to the floor. She rushed forward and put on arm around Sandor, helping him stay on his feet.

“What happened?” Sandor held up his hands, flexing them and checking that they were really his. He pushed the cloak away to press against his chest and stomach, confirming that there was no longer hair growing and that he had the figure of a man again.

Sansa shook her head. “It—You did it.”

Sandor blinked at her. “Did what?”

“You broke the curse.” Though Sansa had no idea how, she knew that that had to the truth of the matter. The man before her did not look to be a gruesome and horrendous at the creature she had once assumed him to be. Beneath his shock at the drastic change in appearance, Sandor looked sad and lonely.

Sandor shook his head. “Can’t have,” he said. “I don’t know what it was.”

Sansa put on an encouraging smile. “That doesn’t mean you can’t break it,” she said. She grabbed the plate again and held it up. “Look at you. How else can you explain this?”

“I’ll be back to being a monster on the morrow,” he said.

Though Sansa didn’t believe a word of it, she could tell that he wasn’t going to change his mind. Sansa helped him through the castle until they reached his rooms. It was a room fit for a king in size and decoration. However, it was entirely unkempt, and looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in decades.

“I don’t stay here often,” Sandor said.

“Then, where do you stay?”

Sandor led her further down the hall into a small room that was mostly bare. Sansa suspected it had been his room as a boy. Sandor flopped onto the bed, and Sansa pulled a blanket over his body. Though Sansa felt she could do with a full night’s sleep, she was determined to stay up and watch Sandor. Not only was she entirely curious about his new form, she wanted to know if his looks would revert back.

It was a long night, but the moon was out high. Sansa had ample amount of light to look on Sandor’s face for any signs of change. Nothing happened that she noticed. Sansa was mostly thinking about how he didn’t appear fearsome anymore. She thought, perhaps, had she met him this way first, she would have precautions about approaching him. However, he didn’t radiate the same amount of terror that Sansa remembered from her time in the cell. Before, it felt like she was in the presence of a predator—that she would be victim to attack at any moment. As a human, Sandor didn’t have the same disposition.

Relaxed by the veil of sleep, Sandor just seemed peaceful. Though Sansa could tell that he wasn’t entirely better—she could see the effects from not eating properly in three days—he still looked docile more than anything. There was no doubt in her mind that he _could_ look terrifying. In the right mood, she was certain that his glare would send off anyone. However, Sansa kept thinking back to when he listened to her read.

It was all too easy to picture this man hiding in the hallway, afraid to be found listening in on stories, or sitting at her feet and gazing toward her while she read another. Sansa shook herself, feeling her face growing hot. Though they had spoken much during her time here, there was much for Sansa to learn about him. Still, Sansa couldn’t think of everything he gave her, everything he offered to her, and leave him here alone.

Sandor had once mentioned that all he did was watch the woods for travelers that needed help, but Sansa didn’t know how he sent the time in between. She didn’t even know how he interacted with the travelers. If they were all mad as her father had been, there would be wild accounts of his presence in this area. She didn’t know what he would do now, but she knew two things for certain: Sansa would return to the shop to deliver her father the tea, and she would return to keep Sandor company.

When the sun finally rose, Sansa watched for signs that Sandor was stirring. They came soon, and he stretched out on the bed before sitting up. Sandor turned to her with a frown on his face. He reached out toward her. “You’re tired.”

His eyes glanced down to his hand—still human—and he withdrew it. Sansa leaned forward to take his hand. “And you’re still human.”

Sandor lifted his other hand, flexing it around. “It would appear to be so.”

Sansa smiled, but it was soon disrupted by a yawn.

Without warning, Sandor stood. Though he wasn’t as tall as before, he still towered over her. He bent down to scoop Sansa into his arms. Sansa grasped onto the sleeve of his tunic, trying to keep her balance. His pace was regular now—not the speed he had before. He took her through the castle until they arrived at the rooms she kept before. Sandor placed her on the bed and went to close the curtains.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I have some matters to attend to.”

Sansa nodded, watching him leave before she settled in for a few hours of rest. She didn’t plan on sleeping long, and she woke herself before she could forget her plans. Then, Sansa changed for the day, whipping a cloak over her shoulders before heading down to the main area.

She could find Sandor anywhere, but there was a basket on the table. Sansa stepped toward it slowly and opened the cloth inside. The basket was filled with fruits, vegetables, and a small pouch that had petals from the red flower. Leaving the basket where it was, Sansa went off in search of Sandor. She went to every part of the castle, sparing little time in every room. Then, she decided to search the grounds.

Just outside the door to the castle, a beautiful horse was saddled and tied to a post. Sansa stroked the horse a few times before running off to the garden. She knew why the horse was there—what Sandor was trying to tell her—but she knew she could find him. He was in the garden, carefully set to watering the plants in his methodical way.

“How long did you plan to stay out here?” Sansa asked.

Sandor jumped away from her voice, splashing water over his breeches. “I didn’t—I—”

Sansa clicked her tongue at him, walking to his side. She smiled. It was different to see him looking so shocked, but Sansa found that his expressions as a man were just as intriguing as they were before. “I expect proper greetings and departures,” she said, “not to be sent off like some disgraced wench.”

“I—truly—I only…” Sandor fumbled for words. He stepped away from her.

Sansa closed the distance. “Thank you, though,” she said. “I will have to take the tea back to my father—a full day’s ride. Then, I should stay for his recovery—three days more, if you’re anything to judge by. I suppose that means I should return in five days.”

Sandor blinked at her. “Return?”

“Of course,” Sansa said. She grinned at him. “I owe you a dance.”

Heat flushed Sandor’s face and a shy smile crept onto his mouth. If it wasn’t obvious that he was old enough to be lord of this holding, then she’d have thought he looked like a boy. Sansa took the bucket from him and placed it upside-down on the dirt. Then, using the bucket as a stool, Sansa climbed up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Five days,” Sansa said. She slowly left the garden. In the castle, she grabbed the basket before mounting the horse. As Sansa rode to the forest’s edge, she looked back toward the gardens and found Sandor standing there, waving at her as she departed.

\--

 

“Are you sure you don’t need this tea, as well?” Arya asked, carrying the tray up the stairs.

“I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.” Arya nudged the door open with her hip, stepping into their father’s rooms.

Sansa hurried around her to snag the mug from the tray, going to sit at her father’s side. She gently shook his shoulder. He had calmed down much, though Arya claimed that he often fluctuated. Ned’s eyes slowly opened, and Arya helped him sit up.

“I brought you some tea, Father,” Sansa said, holding out the mug to him.

Ned didn’t look particularly inclined toward drinking the tea. He simply stared transfixed at Sansa as she pressed the mug to his lips and slowly poured the tea into his mouth. Ned swallowed down the entire mug, and Sansa watched his eyes for any signs of clarity. It didn’t come, but Sansa knew it was only a matter of time. She didn’t remember how many bowls of the tea Sandor had before he started feeling better.

Arya helped her bring other foods to Ned, which he ate with much more enthusiasm. It was entirely silent, though. No one spoke through the dinner. Arya waited until she was back in their room.

“You’re certain this tea will work?”

“Yes,” Sansa said. “I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes.”

Arya choked down a snicker. “And it—it _transformed_ your prince?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’m not certain what did it,” she admitted, “but he is in his right mind again. And he no long has fangs.”

“He’s a handsome lord, then?” Arya asked, rolling onto her bed. “Someone suited for a little doll like you.”

“I am not a doll,” Sansa shot back. She settled into her bed. “And he looks far from that of a prince.”

Sansa had made her intentions perfectly clear when she had arrived. Arya knew exactly what her plans were, and how she’d spend her time here.

At the end of her second day, Ned was doing marginally better. He seemed more lucid, had stopped any odd exclamations, but he wasn’t talking at all. It looked as though he was in a state of permanent confusion. Sansa delivered the tea as usual, leaving a spare mug nearby in case he needed more during the night. She came down the stairs slowly, knowing that Arya’s business model worked much better without her presence. She was fairly certain that the shop should be closed, but a few times, customers had come in after hours to pick up pieces.

“I told you not to come back!”

Sansa rolled her eyes, wondering who she was going to find at the end of Arya’s sword.

“I can help!” a deep voice responded. “I know how to manage a forge, and even you admitted that I knew what I was doing.”

“That doesn’t mean I want your help,” Arya shot back. “You can’t keep coming in here. I’m not going to pay you.”

A tall black-haired man was standing just behind the counter. There was a large wooden box over his shoulder that must have been enormously heavy. He straightened out his spine and looked down at Arya. “I never asked for pay.”

Sansa cleared her throat gently.

The man turned to face her with a broad smile on his face. Sansa had grossly overestimated his age. He couldn’t be more than a couple years older than her. He bowed his head slightly. “What can I help you with, milady?”

Sansa walked past him, going to the back to place the dishes in the back. She paused at Arya’s side. “It looks like you’ve made a friend.”

Arya huffed. “More like a nuisance,” she said. “Just stomps dirt everywhere and messes with everything!”

“I sweep every day!” he retorted.

“Get to it, then.”

Sansa looked back and forth between Arya and the boy in the stop. They stood together in silence, watching as he swept the entire shop. He went on to place a few tools and instruments in their proper place, wiping down a few of them, and moving some of the heavier objects out of the way. After he finished, he gave a dramatic bow to Arya and left the shop.

Arya rolled her eyes, going to lock the door behind him. Without waiting for Sansa, she marched up the stairs.

“He fancies you.”

“Does not.” Arya threw a pillow at Sansa. “He’s after the forge. Reckons he’s the best smith this side of the Neck.”

Sansa didn’t believe it, but she honestly couldn’t tell if Arya had a genuine interest in this boy. She decided not to press the point. Besides, they were still slowly nursing their father back to full health, and Arya knew she’d be leaving soon. As such, most of their conversations were terse, usually ending quickly whenever Arya asked Sansa when she’d be leaving.

The next day, Ned was sitting up in bed when they went to deliver his breakfast. He even looked up as they entered. Sansa froze in the doorway, and Arya shoved her way in under Sansa's arm. He looked over to her. “Arya… Sansa…”

They moved forward at once, enveloping him in a hug. Ned loosely wrapped his arms around his daughters. There was a lot of muttering and blubbering and a fair amount of crying while they explained what happened to their father. Arya covered the events of the shop in great detail while Sansa provided a full explanation of what transpired at the castle. Though Ned didn’t have any clear recollection of what happened to him, Sansa stuck to the truth.

Arya described the mutterings and ravings Ned had early on, and Sansa was quick to explain about Sandor and how he had recently recovered himself from the same illness. Their stories were only cut short because Arya had to go tend to the shop. 

“You have managed well without me,” Ned said, drawing Sansa close to his side, “in your own ways. Thank you.”

Sansa leaned her head onto her father’s shoulder. “I hope you understand about Sandor.”

“I admit my memories of him are not pleasant,” Ned smiled, “but I think I wasn’t quite right then. I have to trust that he deserves my thanks if all you said of him was true.”

Sansa nodded. “He was recovering as you were. I promised I’d return to check on him.”

Ned leaned over to press a kiss to Sansa’s forehead. “Of course,” he said. “Arya has already taken measures to close up the shop at the end of winter. We’ll stop by for you before we head back north.”

The smile spread over Sansa’s face. She hugged her father tightly, grateful for his recovery and understanding.

On her fifth day back, as promised, Sansa returned to Sandor’s castle. Though she didn’t fully remember the directions, the horse remained steady the entire way, following the path all the way through the main gate and onto the grounds. Sansa dismounted and unsaddled the horse to release it back into the woods. Once loose, the horse nuzzled Sansa’s neck before taking off into the woods. Sansa lifted the saddle higher, unsure where to take it.

The weight disappeared from her hands. Sansa spun around to see Sandor standing behind her. He placed the saddle onto a shoulder. “Allow me.”

“Sandor!” Sansa threw her arms around him. She looked up at him, seeing the large smile on his face.

He tried to nudge her to the castle. “Go and get settled,” he told her. “I’ll put this away.”

Sansa frowned. “But you’re not dressed.”

Sandor raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Our dance.”

He blinked at her. “I didn’t think—”

Sansa tilted her head to the side. “Didn’t think what?” she asked. “That I would keep my promise?”

“You don’t have to,” Sandor insisted.

Sansa smiled at him. “But I _want_ to.” Sansa turned and headed to the castle. She looked over her shoulder and called, “I’ll meet you in the ballroom later?”

Sandor’s smile was wide enough to see across the lawn. “I’ll prepare dinner.”

With the grin stuck on her face, Sansa went into the castle. She was halfway to the stairs before she realized that the castle had changed. All of the windows were open, lighting up the room in a way Sansa had never seen it. The dust was gone, and the surfaces of the room were shining in the sunlight. It was beautiful. The colors were so rich, making the room dance.

Sansa took it all in, slowly heading up the stairs. The hallways were also freshly cleaned. Sandor must have been working on tidying up since she left. Sansa couldn’t help but be pleased he had found something to do in his new state. Having fingers without claws must have helped. She imagined that any cleaning he tried earlier had been thwarted by his physical form.

Her rooms were almost exactly as she remembered. Sansa smiled, bouncing over to her closet to rifle through the selection of gowns. She finally had reason to put on one of the more extravagant dresses, so she went through them all to make the best selection. Though she wanted to choose one of the beautiful colors available, Sansa’s eye was continuously heading back to a shimmery grey gown. It was the color her family wore for formal events, and it was the color of Sandor’s eyes. Sansa pulled it out, fluffing out the skirt and hanging it up near the bed.

Then, Sansa took her time in the bath. She soaked in the warm water, scrubbing at her body and cleaning up. The sweet smell of the water filled the room, and Sansa resisted submerging herself completely. Her hair was twisted on top of her head, and she wanted to style it nicely for tonight.

After Sansa was in her gown, she stared at her reflection in a looking glass. Her hair had always been difficult to manage with how wavy it was. With careful fingers, Sansa twisted her hair away from her face and pulled it into a semblance of a bun at the base of her neck. A few locks of had fallen out, but they weren’t going to be tamed.

Sansa slid a pair of slippers onto her feet and spun about the room. Out the window, Sansa could see the sun going down, and she had agreed to meet Sandor for dinner. She left the room slowly, looking around the hall for signs of Sandor. She watched the skirt of the dress bounce as she walked, and Sansa was surprised at how easy it was to move in the gown. Really, she should have tested out how well she could move before deciding which to dance in.

Sandor was waiting at the landing on the stairs. He was dressed in all black, though there were embellishments at his cuffs, collar, and hems. It suited him, and Sansa was thrilled to see that he had dressed up. He even looked comfortable, smiling as he watched her descend the stairs. He held out a hand to her, and Sansa took it as they walked down to the extravagant table.

“You look beautiful,” Sandor said.

“Thank you.” Sansa comfortably sat in the chair Sandor pulled out for her. “You’ve done a lovely job cleaning up the castle.”

Sandor pushed her chair in and looked around the room. “I have grown tired of being in the dark.” He started around to the other side of the table.

Sansa watched him, wondering what he was doing. She was seated at the head, but it looked like he was going to sit on the other end. “Where are you going?” Sansa called. She slid her seat back with some difficulty and tried to head over. “I’m going to—”

Sandor rushed back over to help her into her seat.

“Why are you going over there?” Sansa asked.

He gestured weakly. “That was my…”

Sansa tilted her head to the side. “Come sit next to me.”

Sandor sighed. He reached over to slide the dishes closer, and took a seat on Sansa’s left. He lifted the covers from the plates to reveal a full plate with a steak and vegetable. There was also a basket of fresh bread and goblets full of water.

“You cooked.”

Sandor placed some bread on Sansa’s plate. “It has been a long time since I have been able to create a meal,” he said. “My apologies if it is not done well.”

Brushing the comment aside, Sansa began cutting into her meal. It all tasted amazing, but Sansa wasn’t particularly concerned with the food at the moment. She was preoccupied with the temperature, finding that her cheeks were burning. Sansa had a hard time sitting still, and Sandor’s silence did not help her comfort.

Because of this, Sansa felt like the meal took forever, even though she was eating continuously. They didn’t talk, but Sandor didn’t show any signs of discomfort. Sansa kept her movements limited, finishing up her dish shortly after Sandor. He got up and helped Sansa from her chair.

They were nearly to the ballroom when Sansa realized she hadn’t said anything since. “Thank you for dinner,” she muttered quickly. “It was delicious.”

Sandor nodded, but he didn’t speak until they were outside the ballroom. “I cleaned the castle to find this,” he said, opening the door. Sandor led them over to a phonograph. He fiddled with the machine for a few moments and a soft, resonating sound filled the air. The melody was slow, and it filled the room with a lingering tune.

Sansa took his hands in hers, pulling him into the open floor. It had been a long time since she had danced, and Sandor seemed to be in much the same position. Their first few awkward steps were quickly remedied as Sandor eased his control and allowed Sansa to lead them around the floor.

They moved slowly, stepping gently and sweeping around in large circles. After a few minutes, the song changed, but they continued their dance. Sandor’s hand left her waist, and Sansa faltered for a moment. She quickly shuffled forward to keep pace as his hand went to her hair. He dug for the few pins holding it up and pulled them loose, letting her hair tumble down her back. Then, he pocketed the pins before continuing their dance, closer than before—if possible.

Sansa pressed into him enough to rest her head where her hand sat. It wasn’t his shoulder—he was much too tall for that, but Sansa settled in close and slowed their pace significantly.

When their pace had slowed enough that they were simply circling one spot, Sandor finally broke the silence.

“Are you leaving on the morrow?”

Sansa shook her head. “My family doesn’t head north until the end of winter.” Her voice was low. “Though, I’m uncertain if I will join them.”

Sandor’s brow knitted in confusion. “Why not?”

Taking a small step away, Sansa pressed up onto her toes. She couldn’t match his height, so she tried to lift herself using her hands. After a moment, Sansa crooked a finger at him to beckon him closer. Sandor bent down, turning his head slightly. Grabbing his chin, Sansa moved his head back and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but Sansa had felt that she got her point across.

Sandor blinked at her, searching her face. Sansa could only smile back, absolutely brimming with euphoria. Their feet had stopped moving, but Sansa wanted to wait for a proper response.

It seemed to be an eternity before Sandor asked, “You’re certain?”

Sansa nodded, and her smile spread out wider. In response, Sandor scooped Sansa into his arms, holding her somewhat awkwardly around her knees so she was sat on his forearms. Sansa balanced herself by placing her hands on his shoulders.

Sandor smiled up at her. “Very well, then.”

With a small giggle, Sansa leaned over to share another kiss with Sandor, knowing that it would be the first of many.


End file.
